Star Claws
by FeatherlynneXWarrior
Summary: Three murders have occured in the last three years and Agent Feather Wolfheart vows to find the murderer and make him pay, but finds herself torn between her loyalties as an agent, her loyalties as a Packian, and her conflicting emotions as she finds herself falling in love with the very same person she vowed to destroy.
1. Prologue

**Star Claws 1# **

**Prologue**

The silver ball of a full moon hovered in the aphotic and lifeless sky. Dark, ominous clouds concealed the stars like a thick puffy blanket.

An eleven-year-old boy in a scarlet sweatshirt, navy blue jeans, and white tennis shoes looked suspiciously at the small, abandoned town as he walked down the ancient street, the wind blowing his dark brown hair. He shivered.

As he walked down the old, cracked street, he studied the ghost of the former town.  
The roof of the old barber shop was slopping in and the door was on its hinges. He passed by a drug store with broken windows and a tailor's shop with a caved-in wall.

At the end of the street stood an old, faded church with boarded up windows.  
"Finally, I found it," Said the boy with excitement and awe. "Time to see if those rumors are true."

The boy had heard many rumors and stories about this place, The Black Hills Church, and about the supposed creature that lived here and two people who had supposedly gone missing at the peak of the moon (midnight). Some said the creature was a demon, bent on harming whoever came near; others said it was a black tiger that kills for the thrill of blood running through its massive paws. But most say it's a werehog, who was captured during the early years of the Carnage (also known as the Wereian Holocaust), but then later, after a few years, escaped with a few other werehogs and lived in the abandoned church, but two of the three werehogs were killed, leaving one left. But some believe the last werehog was killed as well, which started the rumor of the demon, most though, believe he is still alive.

But whether he is alive or not, no one knows what he wants. Some say he's bent on revenge, others say he wants attention, and others say he's a mindless monster killing innocent people for the thrill of blood running through his claws.  
He looked down at his watch: 11:46.

"It's all just a big story, the 'creature' is probably just a fox or coyote, and I'm gonna prove it to them,"

The boy climbed up the stone steps, quietly echoing into the silent night. He stood in front of the grand chapel doorway, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

Inside, two large faded velvet purple curtains hung on either side of the grand chapel doors.

The boy walked down the aisle, walking past the ancient cobweb strung pews and staring up at the dusty stained glass windows with his hands in his pockets. Some of the windows were broken, others were just dirty.

When he reached the end of the aisle he stared up at the pulpit and put his hand against it. He rubbed his fingers together. Dust. He examined it closer.

Other than the dust and a few cracks, it was it perfect condition.

He stepped up behind the old pulpit, the wooden steps creaked with age, but the boy didn't seem to take notice.

He stood behind the pulpit, looking out at the empty pews, when he noticed something inside the ancient pulpit.

He bent down and picked it up. It was an old Bible.

He smiled and examined it. It was in pretty good shape, but another thing had caught his eye. An extremely old pipe organ lay in the corner, hidden by the shadows.

Curious, the boy cautiously crept toward the dust coated and cobweb strung organ. He stood in front of the ancient instrument and slowly pressed one of the dust coated keys.

The organ roared as dust blasted out of the rusted pipes, it was as if a demon had awakened. Bats shrieked as they flew in a panicked frenzy.

The boy screamed and dropped down on the floor, covering his head with his hands, attempting to shield himself from the swarm of shrieking, panicked bats.

He squeezed his eyes tight, praying it would end soon. As the shrieking died down, the boy opened one of his eyes a crack. Most of the bats had flown out of the church. He opened his eyes all the way, blinked, looked around, and stood up.

He looked at his watch: 11:51.

Something squeaked loudly, echoing throughout the church. The boy jumped, looking in the direction of the noise.  
A small mouse was scurrying toward a small hole in the wall. The boy breathed a sigh of relief, but then noticed something odd about the wall.

He wanted to run away, but his curiosity was in control now.

He slowly and cautiously crept toward the strange mark on the wall, and knelt down to examine it.

It was a pair of large, blood-stained claw marks driven deep into the faded wall.

The boy's eye widened in surprise and fear. "What on earth could have done this? I mean, a tiger or a bear could've done something like this but..." He whispered, trailing off.

Puzzled and a bit shaken, he stood up and headed for the staircase the on the right.

_Pull it together Tony; you're just letting your imagination get the best of you. There's no werehog here. It's just rumors and stories. Besides, most of them are locked up right now._

_Most _of them. The thought terrified Tony even more. The very thought that a werehog might very well be living here, perhaps even watching him right this very moment, made him freeze with fear.

_No, _all_ of the werehogs are locked up right now. It's just rumors and stories. You're not like everybody else, you're not going to believe this crap, you're not going to be as gullible as everybody else. It's just a fox or a coyote at the most. It's not a werehog. How could it be? They're all locked up. All it is... is... GOSSIP! Yea, that's all it is! Gossip and stories to scare little kids from coming up here. Well, I'm not falling for it._ He thought to himself as he climbed the staircase, the wooden steps creaking with age, echoing throughout the abandoned church.

As he reached the top, he noticed a set of dusty, large, dog-like paw prints leading into a small bedroom.

Inside were two large wardrobes on either side of the small bedroom and a very small bed draped with fresh animal skins, mainly deer skins. An empty nightstand sat next to the skin draped bed and in the far left corner with an aboriginal coat rack holding a worn-out bomber jacket, a démodé pair of torn jeans, and a moth-eaten black leather belt.

Various bones were scattered throughout the bloodstained floor, mainly deer bones, but something else caught Tony's eye, more blood-stained claw marks were driven deep into the wall.

Tony gulped and looked at his watch: 11:53.

When he looked up from his watch he continued to examine the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a closet at the far end of the room. He casually walked over to it and opened the cracked oak door.

It wasn't a closet at all. It was an entrance to another staircase, but this one was different from the others, this was made of stone and climbed up within the church steeple in a tall helix.

He sighed and began his long trek up the church belfry, unaware of the ice-blue piercing, eyes watching, waiting.  
At the top of the stone staircase he came to another cracked oak door. He took a deep breath and pushed it wide open. The stone floor was corrupt with bloody, dog-like paw prints, and just above hung a large, rusty, golden bell.

Tony stepped forward to investigate it. There was some kind of strange marking on the side of it, he looked closer: claw marks, deep, blood red.

Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? This is impossible! There's nothing in existence that can do something like this! It would take an amazing amount of strength to create a gash this deep into something as thick and as solid as this, not to mention extremely strong claws. What on earth could have done this?"

A thought crept into his mind, a thought that filled him with an unimaginable terror: A werehog. A werehog could have probably done something like this. An extremely powerful one.

_No, no, NO! It can't be a werehog! It just can't! There's no way! They're all locked up. All of them! It just can't be a werehog, it just can't! _Thought Tony, fear gripping him like ice, he was frozen with fear. The very thought of a werehog running loose terrified him.

_Deep breath Tony, deep breath._ He thought as he took long, deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down.

Suddenly, he got a strange feeling he was being watched. Slowly, he turned his head to the door, trembling with anxiety; he looked fearfully at the door, preparing for the worst.

Nothing was there.

Tony breathed a huge sigh of relief and turned back to the ancient bell, but the feeling of relief was only snatched away from him when the door behind him slammed shut.

Tony jerked his head back towards the door, his brown eyes wide with fear as he stared into a pair of ice-blue, piercing eyes.  
A huge figure emerged from the shadows revealing a hedgehog-like creature with enormous muscles rippling under its dark gray pelt. Its white tipped, wolf-like tail brushing the cold, hard, stone ground, and five large quills tipped with white ran across its huge head like a mohawk. Its huge knife-like teeth glistened eburnean in the moonlight, and its briery claws stained with blood, but the thing that frightened him the most was the ice-blue piercing eyes.

It was a werehog.

Tony stared at the werehog with disbelief and pure terror as it skulked toward him. A low growling began to rise in its throat.  
The werehog inched closer and closer until it was just a few feet away from Tony, it began to chuckle menacingly with a hint of mockery in its deep laughter. Then it spoke.

"Hmph, you humans never learn do you?" It asked, as it slowly circled Tony, mockery hindered in its deep, menacing voice. "No matter what we do, you humans just keep coming back for more. Not to mention your species attacked us first, and yet you wonder why we hate you. I can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to come up here, especially after what I did to the others, but I guess I was wrong,"

Tony stared at the werehog with disbelief and fear, the rumors and stories were true!

_How could I be so blind and so stupid? The very sight of the claw marks and the huge, bloody paw prints downstairs should have convinced me that there really was a werehog living here!_ Thought Tony.

But now there was no turning back.

"P-p-p-please!" Pleaded Tony, desperate to get away from there, as far away as possible, away from the werehog. "J-j-just let me g-g-go, p-p-p-please! I b-beg you! J-j-just let me go!"

The werehog smiled and quietly began to chuckle, it gradually became louder and louder until it was a full on laugh, a sound that shattered what remaining hope Tony had of leaving, (alive at least). After several long moments the beast's laugh finally began to fade, and it stared down at the fear stuck Tony, looming over his pathetic prey.

The werehog's smile faded. "After all the pain you humans have caused, all the innocent lives you've taken away, all the innocent Wereians you've imprisoned over the years. After all you've taken away from me! My family, my friends, my home, and my _freedom_! I have nothing _left_! And all because you humans thought we were "dangerous". Give me one good reason why I should just "let you go"?" It snarled, its ice-blue eyes boiling like an active volcano.

Tony stared at the beast, terrified, shaking violently. He tried to speak, but was too terrified to.

"WELL!?" It roared in a menacing voice, its eyes blazing with rage.

Tony fell to the ground in terror, bawling, tears streaming down his fear shaken face.

"Please! J-just let me g-go." He bawled, dread and desperation lingering in his small voice.

"I have a better idea," The beast said in soothing, demon-like voice as it circled the fear frozen boy.

It bent its monstrous head down to Tony's ear. "Why don't you just join the others that have visited me, hm? Because I would be _more_ than happy to help you with that," The werehog whispered into Tony's ear.

Tony's eyes grew as wide a full moon. "N-n-n-n-no, y-y-you c-c-c-can't!" He stammered as he backed away from the hellion, shaking like an earthquake.

"Oh really?" It said in a mocking voice.

"Y-y-yes. Y-y-you'll b-be locked up f-for t-this," Tony stammered.

It shook its head. "I've stayed hidden and free for nearly five years now. I don't think I have to worry too much about being "locked up,""

A deep, menacing growl began to rise in the werehog's throat as it barred its knife-like teeth. The growl gradually turned into a deep, lion-like roar.

"Time for you to join them, where you humans rightfully belong!" Then it lunged.

For a heartbeat, all Tony could do was stare in horror at the lunging beast, claws extended, and jaws wide open showing a array of huge, dagger-like teeth, ready to snap shut. It was as if all of hell had been unleashed.

Tony's brown eyes were wide with terror. A stab of pain erupted throughout Tony's body like a volcano. He screamed in agony, only to be silenced when the raging beast slammed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

The monstrous beast lifted his massive paw and slammed Tony against another wall.

"I will get my revenge, even if I have to do it one human at a time," The demon snarled, and roared its deep, lion-like roar, shattering the night.

Tony was bathed in blood and stared at the werehog with huge, pleading eyes.

For a heartbeat, the werehog stared back at him with eyes filled with hatred and rage, like an icy-blue hell, but strangely, a glint of deep sadness flickered in its ice-blue eyes.

The beast snarled, and lifted one of its huge, blood stained paws.

"I promise to make it quick, but I can't promise it will be painless," It snarled and slammed its massive paw into Tony's chest.

Tony gasped and fell silent and still, wheezing was the only sign that he was still alive.

Blood streaming from his wounds like a waterfall left a lake of scarlet beneath him. He tried to push himself up only to fall back down with a grunt of pain, struggling in vain for breath.

For a moment, the werehog stared down at him, his face expressionless, then smiled, clearly satisfied, and stalked away.

The werehog stopped in front of the ancient church bell and gripped an old, thick rope and yanked on it, sending a deep, echoing chime into the night. The beast puffed out its chest and lifted its head toward the silver moon, casting a deep, ear-splitting howl echoing throughout the lifeless night sky, shattering the silence, and Tony's last grip on reality.

Tony sat there, eyes wide with terror. He took one last deep breath and everything went black and silent.


	2. Chapter 1: A Deadly Discovery

**Star Claws 1# **

**Chapter One: A Deadly Discovery**

The blinding light from the dawn's early rays spilled into the night sky, glowing with an array beautiful colors that could put the Aurora Borealis to shame. Chirps from the early birds' song filled the morning air with a soothing melody.

Inside a small house with a beautiful garden slept peacefully a female dusky brown humanoid wolf, enjoying the warmth of the sun's early morning rays that seeped in through the light blue curtains that hung on either side of the windows just above the head of the bed.

_BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!_ The sound of the alarm clock shattered the peacefulness of the morning. The female wolf groaned and slammed her paw on the alarm clock, trying to find the off button.

_Stupid alarm._

The beeping stopped and the female peered at the alarm clock and looked at the time: 6:45.

_Well, at least it's after dawn._ She thought, hopping out of bed to prepare for the day.

She walked over to her cedar dresser and looked in the mirror. Her ebony hair was tangled and matted like a black jungle.

She sighed and opened one of the drawers and took out an ocean blue paddle brush and started taming her matted, long black hair.

Finally, after about ten minutes of yanking and pulling at her deranged long, ebony hair, her golden blonde streak was finally visible, it shot through her hair like a gold river coursing through a black forest. She reached into one of her drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She slipped them on and padded into the kitchen.

The walls were a rich cream color and the granite countertops were clean and littered with papers, notes, and sketches. The dusty red couch sat behind a red pine coffee table with a glass top and just beyond it was a Panasonic 51''1998 TV.

The female wolf trotted behind the counter and opened one of the cabinets, then took out a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and poured it into a brown glass bowl she had taken out. She put the box back into the cabinet and opened the fridge, taking out a plastic bag filled with blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, and grapes, and took out a plastic container of strawberry and banilla yogurt and scooped some into a small glass bowl with a spoon. She took the bag of berries and poured some into the yogurt. She put the yogurt and berries back into the fridge and leaned against the counter with a spoon in her hand. She reached for the remote in front of her and pushed the power button. The wide screen TV came to life and the news came on. The female wolf put the remote back down on the countertop and took a bite of her yogurt.

"–Late last night, young Tony Bachwood from Calidge disappeared. His friends claim he went to explore the famed abandoned Black Hills Church. Officials are investigating the area now,"

The wolf groaned. "Not again," she moaned. This was the third disappearance in three years. And they all had entered the Black Hills Church. In Calidge, rumors of a mysterious monster cascade throughout the tense air, most claiming it is a werehog that has been causing the disappearances. But then again, Calidge is a hot spot for werehog hating, and everyone knows it. But she supposed it made sense, a werehog kidnapping three children as a way to punish the human race for his imprisonment and mistreatment during the Carnage (also known as the Wereian Holocaust). It was the perfect revenge.

The phone rang. The she-wolf blinked; she had been lost in thought again. She often was when thinking about creative or interesting and mysterious subjects, usually narrating them as if they were a story, describing them and telling like one would when writing a chapter book. She loved chapter books, so full of descriptions and colorful words and amazing and engrossing mysteries, adventures, horror, comedy, sadness and heartbreak, and vibrant imagination, all flowing together in an aurora of perfect synchronization. In fact, she did a little writing and painting and clay molding on the side aside from being a government field agent for the FBI. But she never wrote children's' books. She scarcely glanced at them. The last time she had even _read_ a children's' book was when she was four. She had started reading chapter books at around the age of five. She hated children's' books. She shuddered at the thought. Almost all children's' books had a too-good-to-be-true happy ending that made her sick. She was almost a little jealous of children's' book characters because in the end, everything turned out just fine, good even. She preferred books that had a half good half bad ending, because they were more accurate to real life; the ending is both happy and sorrowful, not a full out happy ending. Happy endings were impossible. The closest you could get to a happy ending was living a long, ordinary life where there were no tragedies, few fights, no deaths, your mate still loves you and hasn't tried to get a divorce, and your kids have grown up and have wonderful and completely innocent grandchildren and you died in your sleep at a very old age. Good lives were achievable, happy endings were not. Happy endings were a myth. She knew that better than anyone.

The phone rang again. She blinked again and smiled. _Leave it to me to move from an unsolved missing children mystery to my love of chapter books to stirring up old memories. Speaking of which, I wonder where I put my old photo album . . .? _

The phone rang again. She smiled and shook her head, as if trying to shake off the thoughts that distracted her from the real world. She grabbed the phone and held it up to her ear just as it was about to ring again.

"Hello, this is Feather Wolfheart speaking,"

"_Feather! Morning sleepy head, did I wake you up?"_

It was Chicka. Feather smiled. "Nah, I set my alarm, I had a feeling you'd call me in today,"

"_Awesome! By the by, commander needs you down at the Black Hills Church as soon as possible,"_

"Wants me to help investigate the disappearances, eh?"

"_Yeah, you were always so good at solving mysteries, I mean; you've read enough mysteries that you've gotten pretty good at solving them yourself,"_

Feather blushed lightly. "Thanks, Chicka. I'll be down there in about fifteen minutes, are you already down there?"

"_Yeah, I got called down about an hour ago,"_

"An hour ago! You must be tired," commented Feather, to her, waking up before dawn was near insanity.

"_I am," _said Chicka, stifling a yawn. _"The commander let you sleep a little later 'cause he knew you wouldn't be a whole lot of good to us if you were super tired,"_

"Oh, well that was thoughtful of him. I'll be down in about fifteen, see ya there! Bye,"

"_Bye Feather, see ya in fifteen!"_ Said Chicka cheerfully, and then hung up.

Feather quickly scoffed down the rest her fruit and yogurt and pushed the cereal to the side for later, probably for either the next morning or as a snack for later when she sat down to watch a movie or something.

Feather strided into her cream colored room and grabbed her leather jacket and black leather belt with the pockets hanging over the side from off the coated rack and reached for her dresser to open the drawer that contained her fingerless leather gloves. She slipped on her gloves and jacket and buckled her belt; it hung at an odd angle, falling down her hip at the right, but Feather liked it, it gave her a gangster sort of look that fit her too-tough attitude and gave her a little twist of individuality. She loved individuality; it marked a person as different and refusal to blend in with crowd. Well, Feather didn't have to wear unique clothes to be marked as different and deviant. Feather turned from adjusting her gloves and stared around the creamy room. It was plain; with mahogany walls and a queen sized bed with white sheets. It was Storm's idea, she always liked plain and simple things, unlike Feather who would have gladly have painted the walls a French or sapphire blue and added a cobalt blue and a tiger pattered blanket to the bed and given it black sheets, and drape the pillows in soft lynx and elk pelts, maybe throwing a few on the floor as rugs and hanging a few on the wall along with some of her paintings. But Storm said no, but she did let Feather choose the light blue curtains for the window above their bed, Feather wanted some sapphire blue curtains that were dashed with cobalt markings, but Storm said she would have to put it somewhere else, since they had to share the room and Storm wasn't a huge fan of really bright colors. But she knew if Feather didn't have a place to openly express herself, she would express herself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and probably in the wrong way, so she said she could do whatever she wanted to the attic, and that suited Feather just fine, it had plenty of space to express herself and it was almost always a little chilly, which was perfect, Feather hated lots of heat, she much preferred something a little cooler, 60 degree-ish weather was the perfect temp for the deviant she-wolf. The attic was her escape, the place she would go up to on the weekends, working on stories, poems, writings, sketches, paintings, clay models, sculptors, and many other artistic crafts. She had even put a twin-sized mattress and a pillow and a couple of blankets in there for her late-night projects and a blue cooler filled with bags of chips, soda, snacks, beef jerky, some fruits, and chocolate, lots of chocolate, for when she got hungry. Storm rarely went into Feather's "workshop" as she called it, it wasn't that Feather never let her, she would have gladly showed her sister the projects she was working on, but Storm respected Feather's privacy and only went in the attic if she thought Feather was seriously hurt, if it was a life-or-death situation, or if Feather insisted she look at something and give her opinion on it. Feather always wanted her sister's opinion before she asked for anyone else's'. That was just the way she was. Storm had worked at the sports shop two blocks away and Feather had worked at the car repair shop about two miles south of the grocery store. They had both learned how to repair cars from their father before he passed, they were both just as good at it, but Feather enjoyed it a little more than Storm, it reminded Feather of her father and kept him close to her. Sometimes in between school and work they would go in the garage and work on Feather's motorcycle or one of their crazy "inventions" that they would work on for months but it never did what it was designed to do, instead it would do something totally different. She could vividly remember Storm's laugh as she watched one of their inventions spit out small fireworks and make weird noises saying, "Well, we tried. We didn't get what we hoped, but I think we got something a whole lot cooler, and something definitely unique!" She and Storm would laugh for sometimes hours at a time just watching their invention and taking about who-knows-what. She missed those days. . .

Feather shut her fiery green eyes, cutting off the tears that threatened to break free and stream down her face. She couldn't stir up old memories now. She had a job to do. She stole a glance at her watch. 7:02.

"Time to skedaddle," said Feather to herself. It was one of her favorite ways to say 'time to go', it was so unique and Feather loved it.

She strided confidently to the door to the garage and grabbed her keys from the hook without even glancing at them and twirled them on her finger and slammed her fist on the garage door opener to her right.

She had a two car garage littered with random boxes and buckets of clay scattered around the edges, a couple of tool boxes and power tools lay dispersed throughout the concrete floor and hung up on the wall, and a few posters and notes taped to the wall, left by her sister, Storm and the notes mostly by Feather. Feather had never bothered to throw away the ones left by Storm, with her messy, quick-stroked and tall cursive handwriting Feather loved so much, like a celebrity's signature but written in an entire note. She always loved Storm's handwriting. In Feather's opinion, a two car garage was serious over-kill, especially since her ride could easily fit in a space half the size of this, even when Storm was around they rarely used more than half of the space, though it was nice when Feather was working on a sculptor that was too big and too heavy to put in her workshop, sometimes the extra space came in handy, but most of the time it seemed very empty.

Feather sighed and grabbed her jet black helmet from the rack on her left and mounted up on her black Yamaha FZR400 1992 motorcycle. She had gotten it few months ago when they first released it to the public, even painted it black herself and added her signature trademark on the side; a blue feather and a blue and gold rimmed four-point star with a fiery green outline, the same color as her eyes. And a deep blue lightning bolt ran down from the tip of the handlebars to the edge of the exhaust on both sides of the bike. It was Storm's signature trademark; a deep blue lightning bolt.

The garage door was wide open, casting the bright morning light that made Feather's motorcycle gleam. The chocolate she-wolf slipped on her helmet, glimmering in the sun and started her engine.

"It's purrin' like a kitten on a summer day, time to light the fire and hear it roar," quoted Feather in a soft voice. It was what her dad has always said right after he finished working on a car or when he was about to start something.

Feather lifted her foot from the ground and motored off. She loved the sound her "tiger" made when it roared.

She whizzed by the neighboring houses, it was a nice day, not too hot, not too cold. Just right. The current of wind swept by her in accelerating waves that made Feather's heart race with joy. It was probably as close as she'd ever come to really flying. She'd been in a plane before, but it wasn't the same kind of flying she longed for; with great bird wings, soaring through silky air and cascading and weaving through the starry and color eroded skies.

Above her birds fluttered gleefully through the air, Feather whistled to them, they sang back in reply to her greeting. She liked her neighborhood, it was defiantly a nice one; kids were playing in their front yards, men were mowing their lawns with their shirts off, and women were planting and watering their gardens. It was safe, nice, ordinary, and peaceful, very peaceful, almost nothing exciting happened. Usually the most exciting thing that happened was some kid kicking their ball into a nearby neighbor's yard. Well, ordinary didn't suit Feather, peaceful maybe, but never ordinary. She revved up her engine and roared down the black street. As her dad always said, "_Stop for nothing, just keep going faster!_" Or was it Aunt Joesaline that said that? She couldn't remember, they both said it a lot.

She knew what the other neighbors whispered about her; "That wolf makes more noise than the kids and more trouble too!" And, "Without her sister that she-wolf is nothing but a loose-cannon! A ticking time bomb about to blow!" And about the names they called her; Abnormalice, Bombardier, the Oddity, Bammy (short for Bam-Bam), Snagger, Triggy (short for Trigger Puller), and her favorite: Deviant.

Feather bellowed by Ms. Cags house, an old woman who lived just a few blocks away from her, the two had never really seen eye-to-eye on really, anything, in fact the only time they really spoke was when Feather was riding down the street by Ol' Cags rinky-ding little house and Ol' Cags shouted at her to shut up or keep it down or insult her in some way. Feather didn't care, what were a few insults? She was used to it anyway.

Ol' Cags had been sleeping on her front porch in her rocking chair again, her little Yorkshire terrier, Franklin, sleeping peacefully at her wrinkly feet. Feather revved her engine just as she turned the corner past Ol' Cags house. Ms. Cags woke up with a jolt and screeched, kicking Franklin in the side and sending him flying, who instantly woke up and yelped at the sudden kick, then noticed Feather and got up and started barking. Ms. Cags glared when she saw Feather riding by on her motorbike. She stood up and shouted at Feather, "You no-good trouble maker! The cops'll catch you yet!" She screamed at Feather with Franklin, or the Lil' Terror as Feather called him, barked and snarled at the she-wolf.

"The cops never come down this street, Cags!" Feather shot back and revved her engine again and did a wheelie and slammed back down on the ground, shouting and howling all the while. Ol' Cags shouted something back Feather, but she was too far away to hear, and she didn't care. _Stop for nothing, just keep going faster!_ Her father's words boomed in her mind. Or was it her aunt's words?

Feather stopped at the end of her neighborhood and slowed to a stop. Now she had to follow the rules, cops were everywhere.

Feather revved her engine and swung a left and onto the highway and onto the road to Calidge.

Feather gently hit her brakes and slowly came to a stop. She put her foot on the ground and killed the engine. Grey clouds blanketed the once bright blue sky.

_Shame. I could have gone riding after I was done here._ Thought Feather disappointed.

"Feather, you're here!" shouted a golden furred anthro female cheetah with orange hair and a light purple and yellow speckled bandana. Chicka.

Feather smiled and took off her helmet. Chicka jogged to her and gave her hug. Feather hugged back and smiled warmly at her. Chicka was one of her best friends in the world, her origins hailed from the Cheetah Clan in Africa, one of the eight major feline Clans. She wore a bright green t-shirt and a pair of torn jeans and her usual light purple and yellow speckled bandana and solid gold African tribal belt she had gotten in Ghana. Her right ear had a large hole-shaped gap in it like a giant piercing, where on her trip to Africa a poacher shot at her, but thankfully for Chicka, he was a bit tipsy because he had had a little something to drink before he went hunting and just nicked Chicka's rounded ear with his bullet. Because he drunk he had mistaken Chicka for a wild cheetah instead of an anthro one. Her orange bangs hung over her left eye, completely swathing her it in orange hair, but her fiery orange eyes gleamed as bright as ever.

"So, have you got any leads yet?" inquired Feather.

Chicka sighed and put her hands on her hips. "No, nothing yet. To be totally honest, I'm not sure if our little kidnapper here is trying to hide the evidence or not,"

"What do you mean?"

"Well so far the only real clues we have so far are some claw marks-"

"That's good,"

"Yeah, but we can't identify what species they belong to. We also found some finger and paw prints-"

"Great! We'll have this case solved in no time at all,"

"It's not quite that simple. You see, when we tried to identify the fingerprint and paw prints, it came up with nothing, we're not even sure if it belongs to a werehog or a tiger or a bear, I don't think we're not dealing with just any ordinary criminal, we could be dealing with a genius," Chicka paused. "Well, either that, or we're slacking,"

Feather laughed lightly. "Let's take a look at those clues then and make sure we're not slacking," said Feather casually and padded to the entrance to the abandoned church. Knelt down on one of the steps was a male anthro Arctic Fox with glasses and wearing jeans and a white flannel shirt. He was examining some claw marks driven deep into the wall.

Feather silently padded up to him. He was deeply concentrating on the evidence, unaware of the chocolate she-wolf hovering over him. He jotted something in his miniature notebook with a pen.

"Hey Icestorm," greeted Feather good naturedly.

The Arctic Fox jumped and whipped his head around, clearly startled, then relaxed a little when he saw Feather.

"Oh, hey Feather, don't _do_ that OK? You scared me," said the snow white fox whined in pitiful voice.

Feather rolled her fiery green eyes. "Everything scares you Icestorm, now tell me, what have you guys found out so far?" inquired Feather and knelt down next to Icestorm so she could see the claw marks.

"Well, to be quite honest, not much. Almost every clue we've come across so far has lead us to a dead end," sighed Icestorm and lowed his head and his pointed ears drooped. This was his first real field mission, she couldn't imagine how disappointed he was.

"You said _almost_ all of the clues lead you to a dead end, which one didn't?"

Icestorm stood up. "It's inside, follow me," said Icestorm and beckoned for Feather to follow before he slipped inside.

Feather stood up and followed the snowy fox inside. The aisles were busting with detectives, police, and agents, all inspecting and going over different clues and pieces of evidence. Near the front of the church over by the right wall was a human detective with dark brown hair, a young human agent with blonde hair and blue eyes, and an anthro bulldog mulling over some claw marks driven deep into the wall. Icestorm padded over to the group and tapped the bulldog on the shoulder, who turned and smiled at him, Icestorm pointed to Feather and said something to the bulldog, the bulldog nodded and stood up, and he towered over Icestorm by at least a foot and lumbered over to Feather.

"Mornin' Feather, didn't expect to see you here this early," he had a gruff, but friendly voice and greeted Feather with a huge warm smile. Feather had to keep herself from giggling; every time he smiled his floppy lips would go up and wiggled whenever he talked. He had kind bright forest green eyes with a rim of amber and an inner silvery-gray ring around the pupil.

"Good morning Kirby, how've you been?"

"Well, things could be better. It would be great if we got a few leads right now, but so far we've been coming up with little to nothin'," divulged Kirby in his friendly gruff sounding voice.

"What little bit have you come up with?" asked Feather politely and patiently.

Kirby chuckled, his lip flaps jiggling in the air. "I can't get anything past you, can I," sniggered Kirby. It wasn't really a question, like he didn't really expect an answer. "Well, all we know is that whoever is causing these disappearances is both powerful and clever,"

"So it's not a bear,"

Kirby guffawed. "No, _I_ don't think it's a bear," Kirby cleared his throat. "But we don't know for sure, the claw marks are definitely big enough and deep enough to be bear claws,"

Feather laughed. He always had a way of making people laugh. "So, have you found anything else? Chicka said you guys found some finger and paw prints,"

"Oh, we found paw prints alright, _big_ paw prints. If it really is a werehog causing all this trouble then we definitely got our hands full. Whatever he is, he's quite the hunter though, I just hope he comes quietly when we catch him,"

Feather blinked. "A hunter?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, the hallways up there are filled with animal bones and the living quarters are littered with 'em too, not to mention the pelts, mostly deer,"

"You don't say," mumbled Feather, half to herself. A hunter. She didn't see that coming. She expected a kidnapper, a psychopath even, not a hunter. Feather was more curious than ever to know what, not so much as _whom_, but _what_ was causing these disappearances.

"Have you found any of the kids or clues as to where they might be?"

Kirby sighed. "'Fraid not, and based off the paw prints, I'm not really sure if they're even still alive,"

"What do mean?"

Kirby stared into Feather's fiery green eyes, locking gazes with the she-wolf. His forest green eyes were fastened in worry. She could smell his fear scent.

"Feather, those paw prints are drenched in blood,"

Feather froze. They might not just be dealing with a kidnapper anymore. No, they might be dealing with a murderer. A hunter.

Kirby continued. "We found most of them in the living quarters. We sent some men up to investigate the bell tower, but they all came sprinting back claiming they felt as if someone or some_thing_ was watching them. Even sayin' they heard weird noises and one argued that he had seen a pair of piercing ice-blue eyes,"

Feather mulled over what Kirby had just told her. _Piercing ice-blue eyes. Why is that so familiar…? _Thought Feather and turned her gaze away from Kirby's searching forest eyes.

"Feather, are you OK?"

Feather flinched at Kirby's words, which had snapped her out of her thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine. So no one's checked up in the bell tower?"

"Nope, they're too scared to,"

"Well then, I'll go up there for ya, maybe get us a few more clues, that sort of thing," assured Feather, stretching and adjusting her belt and jacket.

"Would you? Ah, thank you Feather. I haven't been able to get those so-called agents up there since the team came back with their paranormal report," thanked Kirby with his usual gruff yet friendly country voice.

"No problem Kirby, it's my pleasure," replied Feather and padded off down the far right aisle and paused at about ten feet, and turned around on her heel. Her expression was both confused and embarrassed.

"Um, can you show me where the bell tower is," requested Feather, embarrassed. She was one of the FBI's best agents and detective, and yet she didn't even know where the bell tower to the abandoned church was.

Kirby smiled. "Yeah sure Feather, it's up the right-hand staircase and the living quarter is the second door on your right and the entrance to the bell tower is the door that looks like a closet in the far left-hand corner. You should be able to figure it out from there," directed Kirby.

"Thanks," said Feather, embarrassed. She padded towards the staircase that lead up to the living quarters near the foot of the aisle.

"No, not that right, your other right!" called Kirby to Feather from across the aisle. Feather stared him for a moment, a bit startled and confused, then turned the other direction towards the staircase opposite of the one behind her.

"I thought I only had two lefts, not two rights!" joked Feather from across the room.

"Well you have two rights now! J-just go up the stairs!" stammered Kirby in a joking and friendly tone.

"Yes sir," addressed Feather and stood at attention and saluted to Kirby. The caramel and white splotched bulldog laughed. Feather laughed too and made her way up the staircase and into the living quarters.

Feather stopped outside the door and peered inside. Kirby was right; the long corridor was filled with animal bones. Everywhere there were animal bones scattered throughout the dusty and cobweb strung hallway, deer skulls, squirrel ribs, lynx femurs, crow legs, badger jowls, and elk antlers.

Feather reached down and picked up a deer skull by the antlers and held it in the air to examine it for any possible clues. She stared into the skull's empty eye sockets, which stared back at her like dark pools of a bottomless abyss. The skull squeaked and Feather blinked in surprise. A rat poked its long grimy head out of the skull's socket and Feather dropped it in an instant. The skull hit the cracked wooden floor with a loud _clatter _and the rat scurried away into another room. Feather paused and stared in the direction the rat had escaped. The chocolate-brown she-wolf stepped towards the door to the unnamed room and peaked her head inside and gripped the edge of the door frame.

The faded gray-blue walls had cracked and had started to grow mold from the years of neglect and in the far wall were two cracked windows where some of the boards had been ripped off and tattered, ebony curtains hung on either side of both windows, rippling in the morning air that seemed to reach out to Feather like a phantom's hand. In the far left corner of the faded room was a small sagging bed with draped in fresh animal pelts, most of which were deer and elk, and next to it was an empty cracked oak nightstand and across from it was an aboriginal coat wooden rack holding a worn-out bomber jacket, a démodé pair of torn jeans, and a moth-eaten black leather belt. On either side of the room were two large wardrobes made of pine and had exquisite carvings along the borders and on the fractured doors.

Feather stared down at the dusty and cracked wooden floor, unable to take her fiery green eyes away from it. On the floor were huge dog-like paw prints scattered throughout the room. And they were drenched in blood.

Feather gulped. She hoped that the blood was from the fallen animals she had seen in the corridor. Her gaze shifted to the empty oak dresser. It had a drawer, and possibly some clues. She cautiously stepped towards it and reached for the drawer handle. Her hand was just an inch away from the handle when something told her to leave it alone, that it was none of her business. Feather forced her hand away, this went against every instinct she had as an agent, but she had learned to listen and obey these inexplicable messages that seemed to come to her at random. If there were clues in that drawer, they very well could be clues that could ultimately help solve the mystery and lead to the kidnapper's arrest. But the strange voice kept telling her to leave it alone. And she listened. She knew it was probably for her own good. The voice had after all saved her life, and it hadn't led her astray yet.

A floorboard squeaked. With velocious speed, she whipped out her knife from her black leather belt and poised herself to fight, her fiery eyes blazed with ferocity and aggression. A small dark gray shape moved out from the shadows with its long snout twitching like it had an unbearable itch. A rat. The rat from the deer skull.

Feather relaxed and lowered her knife and skillfully spun it around and slipped it back into its pocket attached to her black leather belt like a cowboy after duel at high noon.

The rat saw her and scurried under a crack in the closet door across from the small sagging pelt draped bed. Feather padded after it and dropped to her knees to grab its pink hairless tail. Missed.

Feather growled and bared her apical glistening white canine teeth, but her grimace quickly turned into a frown and she shook her head. This was no time to go chasing after rodents; she had to search for clues.

She stood up and stared at the closet door for a minute; it was cracked and faded, like everything else in the abandoned church. The deviant she-wolf reached for the rusted gold door knob and turned it, and the ancient scrap of wood that called itself a door creaked in protest. It wasn't a closet at all. Kirby was right; it was a staircase. The staircase to the bell tower.

Feather took a step into the fabled closet and looked up. The stone staircase climbed up the church belfry in a tall helix, as if someone had taken a spring and stretched it, then painted it grey and cut neat and even jagged edges along the frame of the perfect coil and carefully placed it inside a stone cylinder and put a lid on it.

Feather put her hands on her hips and took and a deep breath, as if preparing herself for the long trek, then took a step onto the first step and pressed her foot down a little harder to test if it was safe, then placed her left foot on the second step and kept climbing and didn't stop, but occasionally looked down to check on her progress.

After about ten minutes, Feather stopped and peered down over the edge of the stone steps. She was about three quarters of the way to the top. Suddenly, Feather got a strange feeling she was being watched. Watched by a pair of knowing, warm yellow amber eyes. Feather's hackles rose, there was something about this that was far more disturbing than the piercing ice-blue eyes. This gaze seemed transparent and distant, and yet at the same time it felt as if those eyes were staring down at her from only a few rabbit length away. There was a slightly unsettling feeling about it, but she wasn't scared, as if she knew that those warm and knowing yellow amber eyes wouldn't hurt her. She could vaguely feel the presence of the piercing ice-blue eyes, but it seemed more solid, more real, more alive, but unsettled and in pain. Deep, agonizing pain.

This was another strange thing with Feather. Along with the strange inaudible voice that told her what to do and not to do, she had a strange connection with the spiritual world and felt as if she could almost feel the presence of the spirits around her and when they weren't there. There was definitely a spirit here, and there was also a soul in pain. So much pain.

Feather shook herself as if to shake off the feeling and continued her trek up the tall stone helix. She could still feel the yellow amber eyes watching her, so as a precaution, she put her hand on the handle of her knife and firmly gripped it, just in case.

At the top of the stone staircase was another cracked wooden door, but this wood was a little less damaged and in much better condition than the one at the bottom of the stairs. Her heart was pounding and her breathing became ragged and shallow, she was terrified at what she might find at the other end of that door, but she didn't know why. She sniffed the air. Something was wrong. The smell of fresh blood was thick.

_Please let it be an animal._ Thought Feather desperately. The strange voice that usually told her what to do and what not to do wasn't telling her not to go, in fact, it was urging her forward. She put her hand on the rusted gold door knob and pushed it wide open.

The stone floor was corrupt with bloody, dog-like paw prints, and just above hung a large, rusty, golden bell.

_So this is the Black Hills bell tower. Nice. _Thought Feather as she gazed in awe at the huge, rusty golden bell. It was at least eight times the size of her. Something caught the corner of Feather's eye; she stepped forward and laid her hand on the side of the ancient bell. There was some kind of strange marking on the side of it, she looked closer: claw marks, deep, blood red.

Feather's fiery green eyes widened in amazement. The hunter was much stronger than she had originally thought. Much stronger.

A scent wafted in the breeze past Feather's black nose. Her nose twitched, trying to identify and locate the smell. Blood. Fresh blood. And it was close by.

Feather's hackles rose and the light in her eyes quickly faded from a blazing fire to a flickering candle. The light in her once fiery green eyes faded and weaken as they widened in horror. She suddenly noticed something she had not noticed before. A chest sized lump laid still and silently in the shadowy corner of the church belfry. Feather cautiously stepped towards it with her hand firmly gripped to the handle of her knife, unable to take her eyes off the anonymous shadowy object. Another scent wafted under her ebony nose. Human.

Feather froze. They weren't dealing with an ordinary kidnapper anymore; they were dealing a cold-blooded murderer. And as if to confirm her fears, the clouds parted just enough to let in enough light for Feather to be able to identify the object in the shadows. There, lying in a pool of scarlet was an eleven-year-old boy in scarlet sweatshirt, navy blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. Feather ran up to the boy and dropped to her knees, not caring about the blood on her jeans, and put her hand on the boy's still body. She froze the moment her hand came in contact with the boy's still body, it was as if his cold essence had become her own and had frozen her in place. Feather's hackles rose and froze. He was dead. And worse, he had died with his eyes open. His mouth hung open and his head tilted at an odd angle, and his eyes, oh his eyes, were locked in eternal terror.

Feather reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, Chicka had made it for her as a birthday present. Chicka was always so good with technology. Her inventions always did what they were designed to do.

"Kirby, I found something," she muttered without taking her eyes off the lifeless body.

"_You did? Wonderful, what did you find?"_

"I found one of the missing kids,"

The line was silent for several long heartbeats. Feather felt as if her heart would pound out of her chest.

"_Which one?" _Kirby finally asked, his voice had the unmistakable trace of awe, as if he were holding breath and was afraid to ask.

"Tony, Tony Bachwood,"

For about a half a minute neither Kirby nor Feather said a word. Feather took a long ragged gasp; she had been holding her breath in waiting for Kirby's answer.

"_I'll send a team up there. Is he alright?"_

"He's dead," answered Feather solemnly.

Kirby hesitated before speaking. "_I'm on my way,"_ and that was all he said before he hung up.

Feather slowly and reluctantly put her phone back in her pocket. As she waited for the team to arrive, she closely examined the wound in his chest. For some reason her hackles froze in place until they were like icy needles. All the vessels surrounding the heart had been cut, leaving the heart completely isolated from the rest of the body.

Again, Feather felt the pair of knowing warm yellow amber eyes watching her.

The din of the ambulance siren howled and cascaded through the chilly air. It was unusually cold for the middle of May. It was suiting weather for a recently discovered murder.

The field medics rolled the fallen boy into the back of the ambulance. A pure white sheet had been placed to cover his body.

Feather stood by and watched as they loaded the boy into the ambulance without taking her darkened green eyes off of him. She couldn't. Like most Packians, humans weren't on her list of favorite species, but no matter what species it was, she was fully against hurting children, no matter what they've done. The only reason a child would become bad would be if an adult made them that way.

Chicka reached out and touched Feather's arm. The disturbed she-wolf jumped at the cheetah's touch, the light in her green eyes flared for a moment then died back down to a small flicker, like a candle in a dark medieval dungeon.

"We'll find whoever did this, and we'll make him pay. We'll make sure he never sees another free day again," promised Chicka, a small flame burning in her own orange eye, since her right one was covered by a thick layer of flaming orange hair.

Feather turned her gaze towards the abandoned church and stared at a remote point in the distance, into the heart of the forest. Her green eyes had regained their fire and blazed like an infinite green inferno from hell. The wax from the candle had melted and turned the color of blood and seemed to drip green down Feather's blazing eyes. She could almost see herself slashing the murderer's throat with her poisoned knife, his blood spraying the hard ground and leaving specks of scarlet on her muzzle.

She pulled out her silver knife and held it at her side. "You bet we will, I'll make sure he pays for what he's done, personally," seethed Feather darkly and threw the thorn-sharp knife in air and caught it midair by the handle and threw it at the church wall with such speed it might as well have been an over-sized rather than a knife. An unlucky male robin happened to be flying by, singing its sweet melody when Feather threw her knife. The red-bellied bird instantly fell silent with a sharp alarmed _tweet_ as soon as the knife pierced its tiny, rapid beating heart and was pinned against the faded church wall. Its blood slowly dripped down like drops of sweat running down a warrior's face before battle.

Feather glanced back at her spotted friend, her fiery green eyes burned with hate. Chicka flinched, as if a spark from Feather's eyes had drifted away from the inferno and landed on Chicka forehead. She could almost feel the heat radiating from her friend's eyes. It was no wonder why Feather liked cooler weather, she didn't need much heat, she had more than enough fire inside her that kept her plenty warm in even the coldest of winters.

Icestorm stepped out of the church with his clipboard clutched tightly to his chest, then turned his head to the right and caught sight of the dead pinned against the wall with its blood dripping down the side. He shrieked and bolted across the road to Feather and Chicka at full speed, but skidded to a halt and stared in horror when Feather turned her head towards him, her fiery green eyes blazing a strange and deadly light, they almost appeared to be glowing. Icestorm skidded to halt before he could get too close Feather and bolted in the opposite direction and hid behind Talon, anther field agent right under Kirby and a powerful, muscular humanoid bald eagle, completely forgetting about the bloody bird jabbed into the faded church wall. Talon glared at Icestorm and was about to shout at him to go bother someone else, but turned his head and saw the fire in Feather's eyes and lowered his muscular wing in silence and said nothing. Chicka caught the feint smell of Talon's fear scent over Icestorm's overpowering fear scent. Everyone left Feather alone when she was like this. If anyone said they weren't unsettled by the fire Feather's green eyes they were lying. No one in their right mind wasn't scared of that mysterious fire in the she-wolf's eyes. At least no Chicka had ever met.

Feather fixed her fiery gaze on a random point in the depths of the thick forest just beyond the Black Hills Church and stared down with at it with her intense green inferno. If you dared to look closely, you could almost see blood dripping in her fiery green eyes. She could almost taste the blood and almost see the piercing ice-blue eyes watching her from the safety of the thick, shadowy forest, staring back at her with fearful eyes, shaking in fear instead of staring back with a defiant icy glare.

Feather looked away and the fire in her eyes died down a bit as she stared into the ghost of the former town. A sharp stab of pain pierced her heart. There was something about those piercing ice-blue eyes that made her want to help their owner. Feather recalled the image of them when she stared into the forest; there was pain behind them, so much pain, pain concealed by a thick layer of hate. There was more to this mystery than meets the eye. Far more. And there was much more to their little hunter than they could even imagine.

For the third time that day, Feather the gaze of the knowing warm yellow amber eyes boring down on her.


	3. Chapter 2 Secrets of a Forgotten Werehog

Feather slammed the door in undisguised anger. The world outside was dark and a full moon hung from a string of stars with a silky midnight blue background behind it. It was past 10:00 at night. She had stayed long after the dead boy was lifted into the ambulance and taken to HQ for the body to be investigated for clues. Feather had stayed at HQ to help track down the murderer, which she had vowed to find him and make him pay for his wrong doings.

She hated the Hunter. She hated what he did to those kids. Kids were innocent, and what had happened to them was unimaginable, in the Packs, it was unthinkable and punishable by death. In this world, you were just thrown into a cage for a certain amount of time, and when your time was up, you could leave. She hoped in this case the Hunter would never be allowed to leave his cage. Ever.

The furious she-wolf slumped down harshly onto the dusty red couch in her tiny living room and propped her feet up on the glass-topped red pine coffee table without even bothering to take off her muddy knee-high black boots. She knew what Storm would say if she saw this; "Feather! Get your boots off the table now! Honestly, Feather, have some manners – oh! And they were muddy too! Clean it up. I'm going for a walk, and by the time I get back I want that table to sparkle brighter than snow on a sunny day," Feather would usually protest, or complain, or joke about it if she was in a good enough mood to at Storm's nagging command, but either way, Feather would ended having to clean the mud or whatever was on her boots off the coffee table. But usually, the only reason Feather would put her bare muddy boots or sweaty feet on the table were if she was in a bad mood. This was no exception.

She roughly grabbed the remote from off the side table next to the couch and impatiently awoke the TV. The news was on. Great.

"-Earlier today, officials made a disturbing discovery at the famed Black Hills Church when looking for clues as to the whereabouts of Tony Bachwood and his kidnapper. Upon further investigation, Tony Bachwood was found; dead, hidden in the high reaches of the bell tower. Any citizens within a three mile radius are advised to keep a close eye on their children and keep their doors and windows locked until the murderer, or the Hunter as he has become known as, is apprehended," announced the newsman with the slick back brown hair and dark blue tux.

Feather snorted. _A three mile radius huh,_ _wow, they must really be scared of the Hunter if they're taking those kinds of precautions. And if he's so dangerous why aren't they tracking him down right now? _Regarded Feather with a mixture of aggravation and loathe. Aggravation that they weren't pursuing the Hunter and treating him like a minor threat instead of a major threat or at least a semi-major threat, and loathed the Hunter for his crimes and the fact that the government and the authorities were letting him off so easy. Then Feather remembered the presence of the knowing warm yellow amber eyes boring down on her, and in the back of her heart she felt strangely remorse and even stranger; pity. Not hate and anger, but remorse and pity. For the Hunter? Feather shook herself in disgust and brushed off the feelings like they were nothing more than dust in her pelt. But it didn't matter; she might be able to shake off the unwanted emotions forcing their way into her heart, but she couldn't shake the disturbing presence of those knowing yellow amber eyes. Suddenly, they didn't seem so warm anymore. Not necessarily cold, but not very warm or loving either. She couldn't quite tell what emotion was swimming in those anonymous knowing yellow amber eyes.

"-Any information regarding the Hunter is to be immediately reported to the authorities and will be generously rewarded," continued the newsman with his report on the newly discovered murder.

She'd had enough. The enraged she-wolf snatched the remote from its place on the side table and instantly and abruptly cut off the television's life with a push of the OFF button. For several minutes, she stayed where she was, staring at the vacant TV screen with raging, fiery green eyes that stared back at her with equal intensity and ferocity. She had seen the way people reacted when they saw her like this. When they looked directly into her green eyes. She had seen the terrified look on Icestorm's pale face when he came skidding to halt at the sight of Feather's almost glowing, raging fiery green gaze, and then bolted off in the opposite direction and only stopping to cower behind Talon, who himself seemed to shrink a little at the sight of Feather's blazing eyes. The look on Icestorm's said everything, he might as well have been staring the devil straight in the eye with the look he had given Feather. That was another reason her neighbors shunned her, never waving a friendly greeting to her, never inviting her over for a barbeque, even the kids cowered at the sight of her and hastily scurried away when they came too close to her house. It wasn't that she was mean and nasty; she actually liked kids, so long as they weren't too annoying or asked too many questions, but there was like a sort of invisible wall between Feather and almost everyone she met or knew. Including Chicka. When Feather came roaring down the street on her shining black motorcycle or just when she was taking a quiet walk through the neighborhood people glared at her or simply ignored her. Feather could handle being ignored, but the glaring… That was why Feather rarely went for a walk through the neighborhood; she always went for walks in the forest, usually alone and off-trail, away from civilization, if you could call it that. The forest gave her a sense of security and freedom she didn't have outside those reassuring trees, no hostile glares or nasty remarks or little kids sprinting back to their houses at the very sight of the she-wolf. Storm never had to worry about that. She could go for a walk through the neighborhood receiving friendly greetings and kindly waves and invitations. Everyone liked Storm; she didn't have the same fire in her eyes as Feather, even when she angry there usually no more than a tiny spark, unlike Feather who eyes almost always had a supernatural fiery glow to them. But the animals that inhabited the forest didn't seem to mind, so long as she didn't startle them with a snap of a twig or a loud rustle of a bush. Feather loved to just sit and watch the animals live their lives, a doe grazing peacefully on some wild plants, a red-tailed hawk soaring through the untamed silky blue atmosphere, or a chipmunk scurrying up the side of a birch tree with its cheeks stuffed to the brim with nuts. They didn't judge her, they didn't stare at her with sullen gazes as she quietly made her way through their home, they didn't seem to mind her presence at all, so long as she kept her weapons at home or hidden safely away. But Feather distasted hunting anyway, despite the fact that she was a wolf, she hated hunting for sport, thinking how wrong it was to take an innocent life just for the sport of it. She didn't really mind other people hunting though, so long as they didn't make her shoot an animal herself or bring in a wolf pelt. People weren't just wary of Feather because of her physical strength, since most to most people it was common knowledge that she could easily overpower a 250lbs wrestler in a matter of minutes, no, they were genuinely afraid of her. And she knew the source of their fear: her eyes. Her fiery green eyes that gave off an eerie light. She was always an outsider. And she knew it. The only real reason most people accepted her was because of her sister. Whenever a neighbor would ask Storm if she wanted to come and join them for a barbeque, Storm would ask if Feather could come too, she was always thinking of her older sibling, and some neighbors would reluctantly agree, and others would politely say they only had room for one more or only had so many steaks or some stupid excuse like that, but when the neighbors did agree to let Feather come, it was always awkward and strange, and as a result of Feather's appearance, less people would show up. Feather wasn't much of talker, and was even worse with starting conversations, but Storm always tried to make it as enjoyable as possible and making Feather feel more comfortable with other people and try and make other people more comfortable with Feather, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes Feather wondered just how Storm had been able to drag her into those situations, but she knew her intentions were good. Oh, merciful Decoria, how she missed Storm…

Feather shut her eyes and took a long, deep breath and kept her eyes shut for several heartbeats before opening them again. She was instantly greeted by the presence of her reflection from the vacant television screen. Her green eyes were no longer blazing, but they still gave off a small eerie light, like candlelight wrapped in two green crystal balls.

Tears began to form at the base of her eerie green eyes and she tightly closed them and turned her head away from her reflection in pain. It reminded her too much of her beloved twin sister Storm. Apart from the fiery green eyes and the black and blonde streaked hair, they looked almost exactly alike. It wasn't too hard to picture Storm, all Feather had to do was look in the mirror and change some of the features and she was staring at her sister. The hardest thing to imagine away was her fiery green eyes, and picture Storm's sparkling amber eyes with an outer ring of gray and an inner ring of metallic gold wrapped around the jet-black pupil in their place. She wished more than anything to have Storm's beautiful amber eyes over her eerie fiery green ones, then maybe she wouldn't be shunned or glared at, maybe even accepted.

She shook her head. _No, that'll never happen._ Feather thought miserably as she slowly got up from the couch and sulked to the door to her backyard and opened it and paused before stepping outside. _No one will ever really accept me. I'm an outsider without a family to call my own._ And with that she closed the door and stepped into the garden.

This was entirely Feather idea, since Storm didn't care much for gardening, quite honestly, Feather didn't care for it really either, but she loved herbs, being trained as a healer in the Packs, actually, she'd been trained as a lot of things in the Timber Pack, the Wolfian Pack from which she hailed from, but she especially enjoyed healing. It fixed things and was very beautiful. Each one had its own story, each one was different, had different looks, sizes, shapes, colors, and purposes. And Feather loved every one of them.

A light, heavenly breeze ruffled Feather's dusky brown fur and the she-wolf sighed dreamily. The wind chimes she had hung in the weeping willow in the corner of the garden tinkled in the nighttime breeze, creating a heavenly melody that only nature could create. The large willow's long locks flowed in the night's satin breeze, sending ripples of starlight into the air with unmatched beauty. Feather stepped towards the grand willow which stood towering over a small pond that strung into a beautiful stream that ran throughout the garden, shining like a ribbon of moonlight reflecting off the full Wolf Moon.

Feather gently took one of the willow's flowing locks in her gloved hands and ran her fingers through it. It was decorated in shining light blue and silvery flowers called moon lilies named after their gorgeous luminous petals. The mysterious she-wolf absolutely loved them, they were pretty and free and… different. Yes, maybe that's what she loved most about them; they were different, completely different from any other flower Feather had ever seen. They were unique, unique and beautiful.

She sighed and slowly padded over to the clay fountain near the edge of the stream with three bowls with four small waterfalls running down the side of each. Feather attentively slipped off her muddy boots and took a careful step into the edge of the stream. She took a sharp breath, as if she had just been touched by an angel. The water was ice cold and sent tiny shivers through her dusky brown fur like waves surging through the ocean. She attentively took another step, and another, and another, until she reached the edge of the triple-bowled clay fountain. She had made it herself; the fountains in the stores were too expensive and had little imagination and real creativity, and the always loved an artistic challenge. And with success. Her fountain worked beautifully, and she had placed it in just the right spot so when the moonlight hit it at midnight during a full moon it reflected off it through the water and created something that most people only see in dreams. Tonight would be such a night. Just a little under two more hours to go.

Feather peered into the bottom bowl of the fountain and unhurriedly slipped off her black leather gloves and stuffed them into one of the pockets hanging off the side of her belt, then attentively reached into the foot of the bowl and pulled out a single, smooth white stone. The chilled she-wolf began to casually toss the smooth stone between her ungloved hands as she made her way to the rim of the stream and to the edge of the white picket fence that surrounded the mystical garden. It was Storm's idea, and Feather didn't really mind, she had been having a hard time picking out a good fence for the garden anyway. Storm had practically begged to do something to the backyard, and since Storm let Feather pick out the curtains in their room, Feather let her. Here's how Feather and Storm had divided the house in terms of decorating; Storm got the living room, the kitchen, and their room, and Feather got the basement, which was now a library and a bar, the attic, and the backyard, and they shared the garage, the spare room, which was pretty much a guest room, and the front yard. And it suited both of them just fine, though, Feather still wish she could've done a little something to pizzazz up their room a little bit.

She leaned against the top of the pure white picket fence and stared out at the ominous forest. In the darkness she could make out a series of small ponds scattered throughout the thick woods, making it look more like a swamp rather than a forest and the reason for all the weeping willows, none of which were quite as pretty as the one in her garden of course.

The gentle satin breeze came again, stirring Feather's dusky brown fur and sending chills up her spine. She shut her eyes and felt the wind bind her in its swirling arms, letting it wrap her in its tight embrace. _If only I had wings…_ Contemplated Feather blissfully, she could almost feel the wind under her huge, feathered wings and the sensation of the current of air beneath her. It was moments like this when Feather wished nothing more than to take to the skies and weave through the air on a river of wind. Soaring through the night sky without a care in the world, to fly like a bird, a magnificent bird on gentle yet powerful wings. Well, a girl could dream. And dream she would.

With the stone skillfully being tossed between the she-wolf's powerful hands she stayed there, staring off into the forest, as if she expected something extraordinary to occur, but nothing happened. Nothing at all except for the occasional whistle of a bird high up in the farthest branches or a gentle breeze ruffling the wild locks of the weeping willows.

Feather blinked and stared out at the forest as if she'd been in a trance and sighed boredly. She couldn't stare out at the forest all night, waiting for midnight to come. She stole a quick glance at her shed and then turned her attention back to the forest, then back to the shed, and this time her attention stayed on shed. She smiled and stepped towards it, producing a key from her jean pockets and unlocking the wooden shed door. Inside was an array of gardening tools from rakes, to trowels, to bags of herb seeds, and further down, hidden in the shadows were an impressive display of homemade weapons, including a beautifully carved bow and a quiver of deadly looking arrows with green fletching.

She took the quiver of arrows from off its hook and strapped it over her shoulder and took a firm hold of the bow. It was hand carved in the Timber Pack; known for its exquisite bows and unmatched sharp shooters, and Feather was definitely no exception when it came to shooting bows and arrows. In fact, Feather was one of the best in her class, shooting dead center of the bullseye at over forty yards away. Feather could shoot with extreme accuracy. And she never missed.

She picked up a thick wooden target made from a slice of a tree trunk. Might as well get in a little target practice before the Hunter is found.

Feather hung the thick target up by two nails nailed into the back wall of her house and stepped back until her tail touched the wooden picket fence. She smiled and loaded her bow and took aim.

_Fire._ Feather released the bow string and in less than an instant the arrow struck the target. Bullseye.

Feather smiled and loaded another arrow. Bullseye. Another arrow. Bullseye. And another arrow. Bullseye again. At rapid speed Feather was loading arrows and firing them at the bullseye with great success, her only challenge was not aiming so accurately that she split her arrows; she didn't have the time to go to Timber Pack and pick up some more arrows.

With lightning reflexes she produced three arrows from her quiver and loaded them into her bow. And fired. Bullseye. All three of them. And not a single arrow split. Feather smiled in satisfaction. The fire in her eyes had returned. And it was blazing at the sight of the target. She never missed. In the Timber Pack, you weren't allowed to miss.

Feather reached into her quiver for another arrow. Her eyes widened when she felt nothing but the rim of the smooth wooden quiver. At first, she panicked, turning around and circling to see if maybe she dropped them, scanning the forest to see if anyone was lurking inside of those flowing locks. Something clicked inside her brain and she slowly turned her head back to the target. One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. The she-wolf sighed in relief. She was just out of arrows. A sensation she was not used to. She usually stopped shooting before she ran out of arrows. This time though, she had used all of them.

She strided towards the target casually and effortlessly pulled out the finely crafted arrows from the thick, wooden target and slipped them back into her quiver in satisfaction. It was a good round. For a first round that is.

She strided back to the picket fence until her thick, fluffy tail easily grazed it. She smiled and pulled an arrow out from her quiver and started firing. Bullseye, after bullseye, after bullseye.

Just as she was taking aim for her eighth arrow, a twig snapped behind her. The she-wolf jerked around with her arrow aimed in the general direction of the sound. She stood there for several heartbeats, scanning the forested area the noise had hailed from, and then she gracefully jumped into the air with little effort, slipping out of her knee-high black boots and landed squarely on the edge of the picket fence with the bow still loaded. In the Packs Feather had also been trained as an assassin, so stealth, balance, and patience were some of her better skills. In the Packs she had been trained as a lot of things, including a healer, an assassin, a warrior, a weapons master, a tracker, a navigator, and as a star gazer. Like most people, the Alphas and the Desters didn't know what to make of Feather, they didn't know what to do with her, and Feather had excelled at every skill they had taught her. They simply couldn't figure out exactly which job she was destined to do. And Feather liked that, it kept them guessing, and it made her unique, most kids were highly skilled in one, maybe two skills and the Alphas and Desters could easily decide on which job they were destined to do. Not Feather, she was highly skilled in almost every skill she was taught. The only thing the Alphas and the Desters knew about her destiny was a few of the things she wouldn't be and that maybe, just maybe, she that had an extraordinary one. But the only reason they knew that was because of Master Crypt, the Abyssar Vulture, and Feather's teacher, the one who taught her the ways of being a star gazer, which was a priest of sorts, a little like a fortune teller, reading the stars and other signs and knowing their meanings, that sort of thing. It was pretty easy, and in no time at all Feather had mastered the ways of star gazing, like she did everything else she was taught.

Feather scanned the dark, dense forest for any sign of life, anything at all, but nothing. That was another little perk of being trained as an assassin, her eye sight and hearing got sharper, but as a result, her sense of smell got lousier, as if it wasn't bad enough.

She raised her bow in the air, angling it like a crossbow instead of a real bow, and aiming it in the same direction as her line of sight, ready to fire at even the slightest movement, her green eyes blazing an intense fire fueled by ferocity, emanating an eerie green light that gave her eyes the illusion of glowing. She was a terrifying sight, but at the same she was nothing short of flawlessly beautiful. A raging devil and at the same time a shining angel. Dark and light. Black and white.

A tiny movement out of the corner of the blazing she-wolf's eye is enough the send her body to whip around aim her deadly bow and arrow in the direction the movement. She stayed perfectly still, not making a sound, waiting patiently for the movement to surface again. Just when she decided it was probably just a squirrel or a chipmunk or some other small forest creature, a flash of movement sends one of Feather's arrows soaring through the musky air and into one of the bushes. A yelp of pain and surprise, a snap of a twig, more movement, a flash of ice-blue fire, and its bolts off into the forest with incredible speed.

Ice-blue eyes! The Hunter! The Hunter was watching her! But for how long? Did he see her shoot? Did he see that see could shoot with extreme accuracy? Why was he watching her in the first place? These questions exploded in her mind as she raced through the trees and the weeping willow locks that seemed determined to get in her way.

_Good thing I was trained as a tracker._ Thought Feather as she raced through the wet and mystic forest. She would give the Hunter one thing; he was certainly fast. But so was Feather, and she knew these woods better than him. And in his attempts to escape the she-wolf, he had been careless and left several easy clues to follow him with; a tuft of fur, a part of a paw print, a streak of blood.

At first, Feather thought she had gotten him with that last arrow, maybe in the shoulder, but when she darted past the broken arrow lying shattered in a tangle of willow roots, only one side of the tip was stained with blood, but what was it doing here? If she only grazed him why did he take the arrow with him? Was he purposely trying to make her follow, if not to pursue him but to retrieve the arrow? Where was he leading her? Where was he taking her? And why her? Did he see her as the biggest threat? Was he leading her into a trap? More questions raced through her mind as she bolted through the forest in pursue of the Hunter.

As Feather raced through the musky forest in pursue of the Hunter the she-wolf felt the unshakable presence of the knowing yellow amber eyes boring down on her once again. Like before, they weren't warm, but they weren't necessarily cold either. Feather suddenly got a strange feeling that the Hunter could feel them too. Boring down on him, watching him. Even with her lousy sense of smell, she could plainly smell the unmistakable stench of his fear scent.

The willows were thinning out and in their place were towering oaks and pines and the occasional birch tree. The ground beneath her feet was no longer wet, but soft and damp soil scattered with leaves and small scrubs and bushes. This wasn't her forest, this was the Hunter's. Now he had the upper hand, he knew these woods better than Feather. But that didn't make him any less easy to track; he was still leaving behind obvious clues.

The Hunter was tiring out, Feather could tell, he was losing speed, he was getting desperate. A split second before Feather was about to put out an extra sudden burst of speed, a small gorge materialized underneath her. The she-wolf gasped and jumped as far as her legs would carry her and landed gracefully onto the soft damp earth with a _thud,_ and raced after the Hunter.

Feather knew she was right about the fact that the Hunter knew these woods better than her, she swore he had led her through every patch of thorns, over every gorge, and past every bear cave in the entire forest. By now Feather was breathing hard, tired out by the long-distanced chase, but she couldn't lose him now, not when she was so close. Besides, if Feather was tired from the chase, the Hunter must be exhausted, based on the tell-tale tracks Feather had seen he was much bigger than her, but that also meant he had more weight to carry around, and that he would get tired more quickly than Feather, she just had to keep going just a little further and then eventually the Hunter would be too tired to go any further, and then he would be her's.

The woods were starting to thin out, they were reaching the end, he won't be able to hide for much longer, and then soon there would be nowhere to run. She was getting closer, she could hear his deep, hard breathing, and see the flash of his wolf-like tail, and smell his fear scent. It was strong, and it would only get stronger the closer she got.

Feather held her knife up to her muzzle and clamped down on it and quickly strapped her bow to her back and dropped on all four without stopping and sprinted at the Hunter with an extra burst of speed. The Hunter was losing speed almost as fast as Feather was gaining it. Her fiery green eyes raged an intense light fueled by ferocity as she closed in on her tiring prey. She was so close, just a few more feet and she would have him… She bared her dagger-sharp canine teeth and lunged, her fiery green eyes burning with rage. For a moment she had him, right where she wanted him, and then her feet connected with the soft damp earth. Just like that he was gone. Vanished. Like a phantom in the night, just… gone. Feather stood rigid with shock as her head darted around the forest around her, circling to find a trace of the Hunter. But she found nothing. He had escaped.

Feather stood up right and slipped the out the knife from her clamped muzzle and carefully slipped it back in its pouch. She had lost him. She was so close and she lost him! Feather clenched her fists in anger, shaking with the rage that coursed through her veins. How had he eluded her? What was he, a Shadowhog? But, no, Shadowhogs didn't get that big, they couldn't. Nor were they cold-blooded killers with that kind of strength. But how did he do it?

Feather raised her fist. _Scat!_ Cursed the enraged she-wolf silently and punched thick nearby oak tree with all her might, furious that the Hunter had escaped her grasp. There was a loud _THUD_ as her fist connected with the trunk of the tree, sending leaves gliding to the ground and birds darting away from the shaken tree in terror crying out alarmed chirps before landing in another tree. She punched it again, more leaves fell to the ground, she swung her body around and kicked it to the side like a martial artist and punched it again, and again, and kicked it again, and again, and again, until her feet and knuckles were sore and most of the rage had drained out of her body. She was breathing hard from the short workout, but now that most of her rage was gone, she could think clearly enough to be able to track down the Hunter without going berserk.

She took a deep breath and scanned the area for any claw marks she may have missed in case he had climbed one of the trees, and scanned the ground with her fiery green eyes to see if she could find any paw prints or steaks of blood, something. But to no avail.

How did he do it? One moment she was almost on top of him and the next he vanishes. Feather took into account that he might be a Shadowhog, or at least part Shadowhog. Shadowhogs were Element humanoid hedgehogs with unique bending abilities; Shadowhogs could disappear without a trace in a cloud of shadows and then appear again out of nowhere. There were thirteen known Clans total, each with its own unique bending abilities, like Water Clan could control water, and Fire Clan could control fire, and Metal Clan could bend and manipulate metal objects, and Earth Clan could bend and control rocks, and so on. Feather wouldn't be very surprised if the Hunter was part Shadowhog.

She sighed and sat down on a nearby boulder to catch her breath and think. Where could he have gone? A shrill cry of a bird caught Feather's attention and the she-wolf stood up and stared up at the noisy bird. It wasn't just a bird; it was a hawk, a red-tailed hawk, squawking away. For a moment, Feather just stared at it, confused at its behavior, and for a split second, the two locked eyes, and then it flew off with a final shriek and soared off in the gentle night breeze towards to Black Hills Church.

_The Black Hills Church!_ Had she really travelled that far? She stared at it, her green eyes emanating an eerie light, like candlelight trapped behind a green stained glass window. Why had he led her here? Why had the Hunter led her to the Black Hills Church? Did he mean to lead her here or was it an accident? Only one way to find out.

Feather adjusted the strap to her quiver and bolted off into the open towards the Black Hills Church to search for the Hunter. As she sulked down the old, cracked alleys, hiding in the shadows to avoid being seen, she studied the ghost of the former town. The roof of the old barber shop was slopping in and the door was on its hinges. She crept passed a drug store with broken windows and hid behind a tailor's shop with a caved-in wall. At the end of the street stood an old, faded church with boarded up windows. The Black Hills Church. Almost there. Just a little further.

Feather crouched down beside a bank with two broken windows and wall on the brink of collapsing, searching the streets for any movement, for a flash of a gray wolf tail or a stray spark from those piercing ice-blue eyes. She knew they had fire in them, she had seen them glow with an eerie light not unlike her own, only difference was his eyes glowed with a piercing ice-blue fire and her's radiated with a fierce fiery green rage. Not to mention her imagination had given her a pretty good look at them when she was in a rage about what he had done to those kids when she was staring angrily out into the forest…

Feather flinched at her newfound discovery. That wasn't an illusion that her imagination had created, they were really there! The Hunter had been watching her! From the look of fear in his eyes she guessed that he had seen her throw that knife and stab that robin in the heart in less than an instant. How could she have been so foolish?! She was looking straight at the Hunter and she didn't say a thing! And right before she vowed to make him pay! She could've caught him – _they_ could've gotten him and ended all of this before it could go any further. And yet she had remained silent. But then again, she had been in such a rage that there was a chance that no one would've listened to her anyway.

She shook her head in disgust. No time to think about the _then and there_, but now she had to focus on the _here and now_. Feather carefully slid her knife out from her belt and held it close to her side. She wouldn't give the Hunter the luxury of being taken down by one her arrows, a quick and painless death, oh no, she would take him down with a knife, and save the heart and life pumping artery for last. Though, the thought of going to prison for killing a wanted criminal without orders wasn't very appealing to her, but the fact that the Hunter was a three-time murderer and that a lot of people think that Feather went insane after Storm was shot by a terrorist that managed to cross the border into Texas would help her odds of getting a shorter sentence. Feather knew that more than one person thought she was a psychopath, a dangerous she-wolf with a lust for her enemies' blood. But Feather didn't care that they thought that she was a psychopath, so long as they didn't mind her thinking of them as weak little idiots that can't defend themselves to save their lives.

Feather attentively stole a glance down the street, looking both ways to make sure no one was around. No movement caught her eye. Even if some did, it would have to look really hard to find her, the only thing that could give her away in her current position was the fletching on her arrows and her eerie, fiery green eyes.

Without warning, Feather darted across the street like a streak of dark lightning. She had caught her breath by now and was more than ready to face the Hunter. She wasn't afraid. In fact, after she was about sixteen, she wasn't afraid of anything anymore. Fear was irrelevant. It was an emotion that no longer existed in her heart or mind. Some people envied Feather for it, the loss of the emotion that people call "fear". But when people ask her how she became so fearless, Feather simply replied; "I went through a traumatizing event that makes everything else seem like nothing more than a eight-week-old Yorkie puppy barking at his own tail," and when they asked what the traumatizing event was, she always responded with the same answer she gave everyone else, and made sure her fiery green eyes were blazing when she said it; "Let's just say that it made hell look like a daycare center and made Vlad the Impaler look like the nicest person ever to walk the face of the earth." And with that, they usually shut up, but on a rare occasion, a person without the brains to know his or her limits asked further questions, all she had to do was look them in the eye and they clamped their mouth or muzzle shut and avoided Feather at any and every chance they got.

Feather darted across the cracked street and into the grand front doors of the Black Hills Church. Thankfully, the doors hadn't been closed all the way and one of them left just enough room for the she-wolf to slip in quietly. Perfect. The less evidence the Hunter had on accounts of her presence, the better.

She stood upright once she was inside, she had darted into the abandoned church on all fours, she always ran faster on all fours. Feather adjusted the grip on her knife as she peered around the empty aisle. She involuntarily let a disgusted grunt escape her mouth. No guards, no agents, no equipment, no cameras, no special gadgets, nothing. How are they supposed to catch the Hunter if they only hunt him during the day? The Hunter obviously only hangs around his den at night. She was disgusted by her superiors' lack of brains, if you want to catch a predator; you've got to hunt it at night, not in broad daylight where he can see you coming a mile away. But after tonight, her bosses wouldn't have to chase their tails anymore (since with them in charge that's the only place they're going), because by come morning, she'll have the Hunter _begging _to be taken to prison.

Feather made her way up the same staircase she had climbed only this morning and cautiously made her way up towards the Hunter's den. Even in the dim light, Feather could still see the rotting animal bones scattered on the floor that ran the length of the hallway, and these were probably only the recent ones. Like before, the she-wolf picked up one of the animal skulls and examined it. She couldn't help herself, Feather was genuinely fascinated and intrigued by death, and a skull was the symbol of death. As a kid she was always curious about things other kids tended to avoid, like war, and terrorism, and prisons, and medieval torture chambers and weapons, and deadly animals, and venomous snakes, and so on. So naturally, she was curious about death, like, what exactly happened after you died? Did you go up or did you go down? Did your spirit just wonder around aimlessly for the rest of eternity? Or did it just evaporate like mist and disappear without another trace? While the other girls gossiped and giggled about a new Barbie doll, Feather was reading large text books about medieval torture chambers and venomous snakes. This was one of the many reasons Feather's childhood had ended so abruptly; being a child meant you were naïve and an easy target: prey in the eyes of sexual predators hiding out in the alleys. People never told you things to your face or made it sound not nearly as bad as it really was or making false and empty promises that couldn't be kept. She hated it, she especially hated it when an adult didn't tell her something and then blindsided her with something that completely altered her day and on many occasions, her entire life. She hated being blindsided, she liked surprises, but she hated being blindsided, it was like being attacked by a Shadowhog, you never see it coming until it's too late.

_SQUEAK!_ Feather turned her head and carefully set down the badger skull and re-adjusted her grip on her knife. Feather pressed her back against the faded wall and inched her way towards the second door on the right with her knife poised to strike whoever or whatever was hiding in that room. Her heart was pounding, not from fear but from the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the excitement that fueled the raging fire in her eyes.

Feather paused for several heartbeats when she had reached the edge of the door, remaining motionless and silent, the only movement from her was the tiny rise and fall of her stomach and the blazing fire that raged in her green eyes. _SQUEAK!_ That was her cue. Feather spun into the room and lunged, viciously stabbing at the creature with a fatal blow. Only it wasn't fatal, it only succeeded in stabbing the creature in the tail. And it was a lot small than Feather had expected, a small dark gray shape squirmed in the shadows with its long snout twitching like it had an unbearable itch. The rat! The rat from the deer skull this morning! How could she have fallen for it again?!

She sighed and yanked out her knife from its disgusting, hairless tail, and it scurried away in terror the moment it could move away. She stared at the place where the rat had struggled against the knife and tried to scurry away for dear life. The unmistakable look of fear in its glossy dark red eyes.

_Wow, even the rats are terrified of me._ Reflected Feather with little emotion, even though her heart ached at the all-too familiar memory of the look of fear in peoples' eyes when they stared into the blazing green fire that was her eyes. Beautiful as they were, they were her deadliest weapon. And no one would disagree that they weren't effective.

"You're trespassing you know, I don't take kindly to trespassers,"

Feather's head whipped around and her knife locked firmly in her powerful hand, posed to stab whoever or whatever had uttered those dark words. Her fiery green eyes were blazing like a wild forest fire, but there was not the tiniest glimpse of fear in them. Not the smallest spark. Nothing.

The massive figure before her flinched before locking eyes with her. The blazing green fire in Feather's eyes went from blazing forest fire to a burning, raging hellfire as she stared into a pair of piercing, ice-blue eyes.

"YOU!" screamed Feather with undisguised rage and caustic hate. She couldn't believe he had the guts to actually face her! That he had the tail to call her a trespasser when he had murdered innocent children! The sheer _stupidity_ to reveal himself to her after seeing what she could do. Heck, she could hack this over-sized chunk of meatloaf into nice little bloody bite-sized pieces. And she would enjoy every bite of it.

Her heart skipped a beat two seconds after she locked eyes with the killer. There was something in those piercing, damning, ice-blue eyes. Fire. Ice-blue fire. The kind of fire that gave eyes an eerie, an unnatural glow to them. And it wasn't just a spark, oh no, it was a blazing forest fire, not unlike . . . her own eyes…

For several minutes they said nothing, just stared into each others' intense, fiery gazes, trying to read them, intimidate them. For this was half the battle. One Feather was finding a little harder than she had previously thought. He was different. Unlike anyone else Feather had ever met. He was the only other person she had ever met that had the same fire in his eyes as her…

_No! Stay focused you bloody psychopath! You have nothing in common with this Hagswatcher, understand? Absolutely _nothing_! Got it? NOTHING! _Feather silently screamed the scathing words at herself for even daring to think that she, Feather Sapphire Wolfheart, had anything in common with this cold-blooded child killer with the ice-blue fire in his piercing eyes.

"That's funny coming from you, Hunter," responded Feather darkly as she slowly stood up without taking her raging fiery green off him, moving as if almost afraid if she made any sudden movements the Hunter would lunge. Her raging fiery green eyes locked in a death glare at the Hunter, and he stared back with an equal intensity. It was a stare off.

"What do you mean by that?" replied the Hunter in an ominous tone, refusing to take his piercing ice-blue eyes off of Feather. He stared to slowly, ever so slowly, move around Feather, circling her, circling his prey, his piercing eyes trained on her like a starving animal watches its next meal. Only taking his eyes off of her for a moment to glance at the knife in her hand before training his eyes back on Feather. His eyes held no emotion.

"That's a pretty fine blade you have there, forged in the Timber Pack, I assume?"

"Yes, Imperial Timber Poison Dagger, exclusive to elite members," he had circled a quarter of the way around her, his eyes still trained on her. They were cold, very cold. Feather had to resist the urge to shiver, was it just her imagination or was the room actually getting colder?

He nodded slightly, his eyes now trained on the dagger. Longing swam in his fearless ice-blue eyes, no, not longing, maybe… respect? Wonder? Memories…? Pain…?

"Thought so," he sighed, as if disparately longing for something just out of reach. And something told Feather that he didn't long for the finely crafted blade in her hand. "I haven't seen one of those in a long time…" he mumbled half to himself. His eyes were not longer cold, just… hurt. In pain. Why…?

Feather was about to ask where the last place he saw one was, but decided against it, she wasn't curious enough to ask anyway. He had by now circled half way around Feather until he was behind her; she turned around cautiously, never taking her eyes off of him. He had escaped her grasp once, twice even, she wouldn't let him escape her grasp this time.

He wasn't even paying attention to her. His back was turned and he was staring out through the cracks in the boarded up window, the light of the full moon seeping through, casting long, eerie shadows. His ice-blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight, they were beautiful, and… they weren't focused on whatever was outside, no, they staring off into another world, another time perhaps…? Feather wasn't sure, she only knew that they weren't here, they were somewhere else.

"What do you want, Hunter?" Feather asked viciously, losing her patience.

A strange sound escaped his mouth; it was halfway between a laugh and an almost sarcastic cough. He looked down at the cracked wooden floor. "So that's what they call me uh? The Hunter…" he looked up from the floor and stared into Feather's fiery green eyes. They were no longer cold, only… hurt. In pain, and desperate, so very desperate, but for what?

Feather suddenly noticed something about the Hunter that she hadn't noticed before; she didn't know why see didn't it until now. Maybe it had been the dim light. But now, as stood in the soft rays of moonlight, she noticed he had big ears, too big to be a hedgehog's, and they were shaped differently, like a wolf's, and behind him, a long, wolf-like tail brushed up against the cracked and faded wooden floor.

Feather's heart skipped a beat.

He was a werehog.

The people of Calidge were right.

The Hunter is a werehog. A werehog with enormous muscles rippling under his dark gray pelt, his pointed wolf ears, bushy wolf tail, and his five large quills that ran across the top of his massive head like a mohawk were tipped with a snowy white. He was wearing a pair of démodé torn jeans, and a moth-eaten black leather belt buckled around his waist, and a pair of homemade shoes made from long strips of dead grass and rabbit pelts. He looked to be about twenty-years-old. Old enough to have lived through the Carnage. Old enough to have a reason to slaughter those kids.

Something caught her eye though, driven deeply in his white chest fur, sprawled out and engraved in his chest were huge claw marks. Probably from a scrap with another werehog or wererouge or something like that.

Despite how filthy he was and how badly torn up his clothes were, he was quite handsome. Very handsome.

"What did you mean, when you said it was funny that I said you were trespassing?" he asked, his eyes were solemn, but they were staring down at the floor again, circling around her the opposite way, back towards the door, away from the windows.

Feather hesitated, but only for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "You crossed the line when you killed those kids, you trespassed, and besides, you don't own this place, so technically, you're trespassing," Feather stated darkly, almost accusingly.

He flinched at the mention of the kids, as if the memory were painful to him. He was at the door now, facing the way out, one of his hands loosely gripped the frame around the cracked and faded door, like a person saying goodbye to his home for the very last time. Feather's muscles tensed and her grip on her knife tightened, she prepared herself to run, just in case he decided to try and make run for it. But he didn't. He just stayed there staring at the floor. His back was hunched and his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked so… defeated. His ice-blue eyes coated in a thin layer of pain, staring off into another place, another time.

"Everybody's forgotten about this place, just like they forgot about me. Besides, I don't have anywhere else to go,"

Feather's muscles relaxed ever so slightly and her blazing green eyes softened till they were more like a mild campfire rather than a blazing forest fire. Something suddenly caught the she-wolf's eye; there was something on his back, something deep…

Feather squinted her eyes and tried focused in on the object on the Hunter's back and flinched when she realized what it was. Whip marks. He had been whipped. No doubt he received them during the Carnage. No Wereian Pack does that other members of their Pack, not even the Black Diamond Pack or the Bloodstone Pack, they may be strict, but they're not cruel, and they certainly never whipped one of their own. Then again, he could be a wererouge, banished from the Packs for some sort of crime, but no, that didn't seem right, he didn't seem like a wererouge, even though he was a murderer. Wererouges were usually mean and proud and hardhearted and savage. Very savage. With little to no limits and no loyalties whatsoever. Besides, he didn't have the mark of a wererouge, actually, he didn't have any marks at all, he didn't have the mark on his arm that certifies that he is a full member of the Packs, but then again, he was probably really little when his Pack was raided by the humans at the beginning of the Carnage and didn't get the chance to go through the Marking. Deep down, Feather pitied him.

"I saw you shoot. You're really good. I was surprised you didn't split any of the arrows," he said out of the blue, trying to change the subject, his voice solemn and honest, his eyes still staring off into another world.

"I prefer not to waste my arrows on target practice, their too valuable. Besides, I don't want to have to make the trip all the way to Timber Pack to get more,"

He smiled slightly, but it vanished from his face almost as fast as it had come. "I also saw you this morning, with the agents and detectives. You're with _them_, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice almost cracked when he asked if she was with _them_, but he said like he already knew the answer.

"Yes, yes I'm with them," she croaked, her voice sounded hollow and shallow, as if she wasn't real sure of herself. Where _did_ her loyalties lie?

The Hunter nodded, with his eyes still trained on the floor, like he was in a trance, or under some sort of spell. But from the look in his eyes, the spell was expiring.

He sighed heavily. "So, I guess you're gonna take me away now, huh?" he asked in a quiet, solemn voice, but it was more of a statement than an actual question, as if he already knew the answer to his own question. He stared at and locked eyes with the she-wolf. His eyes were swimming with a mixture of emotions, sadness, pain, desperation, longing, and… acceptance. Like he was accepting his fate. His fate behind bars and his spirit weighed down by heavy chains.

This was her chance. To cuff the Hunter and call for Chicka and Kirby to come down here and take him to prison, but instead, she surprised herself. "Tell me more first," she blurted out. Every part of her was screaming to reach for the cuffs concealed in one of her belt's pockets and jump him while his guard was down. But she managed to stay still; she wanted to hear his story before she arrested him.

The Hunter blinked in surprise, but shrugged and his eyes stared back down at the floor again, his eyes fixed on another world or another point in time, or both, he understood what she meant. He sighed heavily. "I might as well, I've got nothing else to lose anyway," he shifted till his back was against the door's outer frame and slid down it and sat down on the cold, cracked, wooden floor. He leaned his head back for a moment and took a deep breath and looked up at her expectantly. He wanted her to sit down. It was a long story.

Feather understood and cautiously took a few tentative steps towards him and sat down a few feet away from him, her knife resting in her lap and her body facing him.

He shrugged and turned his gaze away from her and breathed out a long, heavy sigh before he began. "I was eight when they raided Gold Mountain, I'm from the Gold Pack you see, my dad was the Golden Alpha, his name was Oak. He meant the world to me. And they killed him, along with the rest of my Pack. The only reason I survived was because my dad pushed me into the cellar and locked it before the humans reached our house. I eventually got out, but my dad was dead. And there was no sign of my mom. I never found her body. I never found my brothers' or my sister's body either, I have two brothers and one sister; my older brother Scratch, my younger sister Cinder, and my little brother Twig. We were quadruplets you see, I was the second oldest. The thought that they were still out there gave me hope that they were still alive. I left Gold Mountain a few days after it was raided and went to live in a nearby forest to hunt. I was young, and hadn't learned all the proper hunting techniques, so food was scarce for me. Until a pair of Deathhorn's goons found me,"

"Deathhorn? You were captured by Deathhorn?" Feather was shocked; maybe he didn't get the whip marks on his back from the Carnage, at least not directly. She had heard rumors that Deathhorn whipped many of the kids he kidnapped. Deathhorn was a mad humanoid tribal horned lizard scientist, and along with the Hunter here, he was one of their most wanted criminals.

The Hunted briefly looked at her and nodded, then turned his gaze away and continued his story. "They ambushed me and tied me up and blindfolded me so I couldn't where they were taking me and tied some cloth around my mouth so I could cry for help. I t all happened so fast. I couldn't escape. They had chained my hands behind my back so I couldn't fight and chained my legs together so I couldn't run away. Before I knew it the blindfold was ripped off and standing in front of me was this huge green lizard with these tribal tattoos and these two massive horns. He had this huge scar over his right eye and the eye was milky, he was probably blind in that eye. They lead me to this room, like a miniature lab with a cell off in the corner. He took the cloth out of my mouth and asked me my name. Then he fitted me with these heavy shackles and the guards lead me to this massive cell and pushed me in and locked the door behind me. I had never felt so alone or been more scared in my life, I had never been so confused before, like, what did he want with me? What was he going to do to me? Who was he even? At first, he didn't really hurt me, he just took a bunch of blood samples and then they put me back in my cell and left me there until Deathhorn either wanted another blood sample or if it was dinner time. They gave me dried chunks of skunk meat to eat, and they gave it to me once a day, maybe twice a day," he shuddered at the memory of the disgusting meat. "But despite how nasty the food was, I actually looked forward to it, because the one who served it was really nice to me. Her name was Sonia, she was Deathhorn's niece or something, but she was nothing like him. After she gave me my food she stayed and talked to me. She kept me company. She was my only friend there, and after Deathhorn's experiments got more vigorous and his punishments more brutal, she treated my wounds. She kept me going. She gave me hope. She even convinced Deathhorn a few times to have mercy on me or something and got me off the hook with just some minor punishments like heavier shackles instead of whippings. I tried to escape a few times, sometimes I didn't get much farther than across the hall, and other times I got out into the forest, one time I even managed to escape from Deathhorn for a few days," the small smile that had formed on his face as he was talking about Sonia and his escape attempts disappeared and was replaced by hopelessness. He curled into a tighter coil, wrapping his arms around his knees and pressing them close to his chest. He seemed to have shrunk.

"But they all ended the same. Deathhorn would catch me. Then he would whip me. Then he would lock me up in the Lab Cell and chain me to the point where I could barely move. Sometimes the chains were so tight that they cut off the circulation in my limbs. The Lab Cell was a little cell in his miniature lab and kept me in there when I broke a huge rule like trying to escape for attacking a guard or undermining his authority or something like that, and kept me in there so he could keep a close eye on me. Sonia would come in and treat my wounds, feed me and give me water, and just be with me, trying to comfort me. But Deathhorn never let her stay very long with me while I was in the Lab Cell. And he kept me in there until he thought I was ready to go back to my regular cell. But after a while he started to think that I couldn't handle my regular cell because of all the resources in it and the lack of security surrounding me so he had the guards put me in heavier shackles and take me to this other higher-security more fortified cell that would become my new regular cell. It was a little nicer, a little cleaner, a lot smaller, but it was defiantly a lot harder to get out of. But on the upside, I got to spend a little more time with Sonia, she even stayed and slept in my cell with me for a night, after Deathhorn gave his permission of course, he wouldn't have let her do it otherwise. Wouldn't want me taking her hostage and using her as a way to help me escape without him thinking it over first," he scoffed.

The light in Feather's eyes was now just a tiny, flickering spark in the back of her eyes. This was probably the saddest story she'd ever heard. And this story was very real. It was reality. A very cruel reality.

He continued. "After a few years, Deathhorn caught another kid threw him in with me. His name was Spike. 'Sides from Sonia, he was my only friend. He really liked the Legends of King Author and his Knights of the Round Table, he told me some of the stories, and a couple of them were really good. It gave us something to do. Deathhorn didn't bother with him as much as he did with me. He was more interested in me for some reason. Maybe it was because I was a werehog, or maybe it was because I was the Golden Alpha's son, I don't know. But one day, while Spike and I were sitting in our cell, exchanging stories, him with King Author and me with the Decorian Legends I knew, the alarm went off. We thought it was weird because the only times the alarm went off was when I was making a run for it, Spike never tried to make a run for it, which was one reason why his shackles were lighter than mine, and then all of a sudden, the cell door unlocks and the guards were gone, and they had left the keys on the floor.

"Of course I immediately took advantage of the situation, not questioning it, just going with it, and Spike hung back, not sure what to do, he knew the punishments for trying to escape. And as soon as I got my shackles off, like twenty guards came rushing down the hall to our cell and saw me, unshackled and with the keys in my hands. I bolted and tried to make a run for it. It's all kind of a blur, I just remember running from every guard I saw and somehow I made it to the exit. And then I saw Spike and Sonia. Spike was being led by two guards and Sonia was accompanying him, like she always did with me when she could. They saw me too and told me to run, the guards saw me and one of them came running after me as Spike and Sonia were screaming at me to run. I ran towards to exit and maneuvered so that the guard chasing me ran into a wall. I screamed back at them promising that I would come back and get them, then I slammed by fist on the button that opened the exit and ran. I ran and I ran and I ran. I just kept. Running and running and running. I kept running until I thought my lungs would explode and stopped near the border of Black Hills. After I had caught my breath, I realized that they weren't following me. That I was free," the Hunter sat back and closed his eyes, smiling pleasantly. Dreamily.

He let out a breathy, shallow chuckle. But it was a laugh nonetheless. "And let me tell you, after you've been imprisoned for over four years and then get a taste of freedom, _real_ freedom…" he sighed dreamily, recalling the pleasant memory. He opened his eyes and looked Feather in the eye. His ice-blue eyes sparkled, making Feather wonder, how a person like the Hunter could be a child murderer. And right now, listening to him talk about sweet freedom, he seemed like he was no older than sixteen, when just a few minutes ago, he seemed like he was a hundred years old, staring out the crack in the boarded up windows, staring out at some point in the distance, staring out at another world, another time. The shafts of moonlight turning his dark gray fur a silvery white, making him look ancient. She almost felt bad that after he finished his story about sweet freedom, she would have to put him in handcuffs and call up Chicka and Kirby to come and take him to prison. Almost.

"It must be amazing, Hunter," commented Feather in a quiet voice, a small part of her mind in a daze, dreaming about real freedom herself. Freedom. She loved it. There was nothing like. Maybe she and the Hunter did have something in common. Freedom was their best friend.

He glared at her, his ice-blue eyes bore down on her, burning through her soul. Feather flinched before returning the glare. But her eyes didn't blaze; the light inside them was as soft as candlelight. "Don't call me that. My name's Shut," he sounded exactly like a little kid in a grocery store demanding candy.

Feather blinked. Shut. It was a nice name. Definitely a Wereian type of name. "My name's Feather, Feather Wolfheart. It's nice to meet you Shut," she put a little extra emphasis on his name, just so he knew she knew it. Her green eyes were warm; the light in her eyes was a comforting, small fire, like in a fireplace, warm and comforting, but under control at the same time.

Shut smiled a little at Feather. His ice-blue eyes were warm and comforting… and free. Wild and free and so full of spirit, but under control at the same time. And unlike before, the room seemed to be getting a little warmer. "It's nice to meet you too Feather Wolfheart," Shut returned the greeting in a sweet and friendly voice. Feather marveled at how friendly the Hunter – Shut – really was. How could a werehog as friendly as this one be the same child killing murderer? Feather just didn't know. _It's too bad I had to put him in handcuffs after this._ Contemplated Feather, she didn't necessarily _want_ to cuff him after hearing his story of how his freedom was so brutally taken away from him, but she _had_ to. She was wasting precious time just listening to him and not handcuffing him to something.

He turned his gaze away from her for a moment before locking his fiery ice-blue eyes with her green. They seemed… hurt, almost, in pain, like an innocent little kid pleading for help. "It's too bad after I'm finished you'll have to put me in handcuffs, huh?" he echoed her thoughts, and stared up at her with sad, eleven-year-old eyes.

Feather's heart ached at the sight and she turned her eyes away. She just couldn't bear looking him in the eye and confirming that she was going to take his freedom away. "Yeah, it's too bad," she whispered in a barely audible voice. Her heart ached, it hurt. Just like his eyes. Did she really _have_ to arrest him…?

_Yes you do. You can't let him get away from you this time; after he's finished you take out those handcuffs and chain him to that bed so he can't run away when you call for Chicka and Kirby to come and pick him up. Got it? You _have_ to. You don't have a choice, you bloody psychopath. If you let him get away this time he'll turn around and kill another innocent child! You won't let _that _happen, will you? _The voice in her head snarled. It was her darker part talking. The part of her that didn't care who was hurt as long as what needed to get done got done. She wasn't sure if she liked that side of her, the side of her that gave her the fire in her green eyes. That made her an outcast. A psychopath.

They remained silent for several minutes, not saying a word. Feather cleared her throat. "So, you were saying you had escaped from Deathhorn and stopped at the border to Black Hills," prompted Feather, she may have to arrest him later, but she still wanted to hear the rest of his story.

"Right," he said quickly, almost apologetically, before he leaned his head back against the door frame and closed his eyes. "Yeah, well, it was amazing, after over years in shackles and a cage it felt amazing, like nothing in the world could contain me anymore. I was twelve at the time, almost thirteen, and I after a while I decided I might as well check out the town and find a place to stay for the night. I settled on the church because it was big and had a few rooms for me to choose from," he chuckled a little. "And it was the only place that had a decent roof,"

Feather laughed lightly, then her face grew serious. "So Deathhorn really held you captive for over four years?" she inquired, her voice full of sympathy and concern.

He looked her in eye and nodded before turning his gaze to the ceiling. "Yeah, probably would have kept me there longer if I hadn't escaped," he sighed. "So anyway, after I settled in the church I started to hunt again, it took some adjustment and I had to come up with some of my own hunting techniques, but I managed to scrape by and get food and water. There were times when I had to eat plants and roots because game was so scarce," he shuddered. She didn't blame him, for Packians such as Feather and Shut, meat made up a good majority of their diet, so the thought of plants and roots and herbs was utterly revolting, but Feather didn't mind carrots or the occasional salad, so long as it had dressing or ranch on it.

"Nasty," commented Feather, not wanting to admit to him that she herself had had a salad for lunch earlier in the day.

"Yeah, it was almost as bad as the skunk meat. So one day I went out to go hunting and gather some roots and stuffs, but game was scarce, it was unusually cold that day, and I was having a hard time finding the right plants that day, and then I remembered something my dad had told me about how the Outsiders got their food, so I decided to go into town and try it out,"

"Didn't you know you needed money?" Feather nearly laughed out, and decided there was something about Shut that she liked, even if he was a murderer.

"No," admitted Shut, blushing slightly. Feather giggled, and Shut laughed weakly with her. His social skills were a little rusty.

He cleared his throat. "So, at first, I thought it was a great idea, but when I got close to the city, I wasn't so sure. But I went in anyway, snuck into the city through a back alley and entered the city that way. At first, I thought I was in the clear, but then I noticed people were giving me these dirty looks and shying away from me, one of them yelled at me. I was young and had been isolated from the world since the Carnage began, so I wasn't sure what was going on, but then I saw the grocery store as it was called across the street and walked out towards it. And then something with bright lights rushed towards me, I jumped out of the way moments before it could hit me,"

"Cars,"

"Yeah, cars. At first, I wasn't sure what had just happened, and then another one rushed past me, then another, and another, and then all of a sudden one was rushing towards me, I was in its path, and it stopped just inches away from my face. For a moment, nothing happened, and then this someone in a blue suit stepped out of the car and started yelling at me for standing in the middle of the road,"

"Cop,"

"Yep, and then he stopped and saw my tail. I was still trying to recover from the shock of had being moments away from being flattened, and then he said I was coming with him. Two other men in blue suits stepped out of the car and I asked where we were going, he just said downtown and reached for some handcuffs hanging at his side. They all rushed me; I managed to fight one of them off and gave them all some pretty nasty cuts, but then one of them shot me in the neck with some kind of dart and I started to feel all woozy and sleepy, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and eventually I fell to the ground and they came and started chaining my hands behind my back and cuffing my feet. I tried to fight back but I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open, and before I knew it I was being dragged to the car and was thrown in the back seat. That's about when I passed out. I woke up outside a police station, still in the backseat and cuffed by my wrists and ankles. The three police were standing outside talking to someone. I thought that was my chance, to escape while they weren't paying attention, and started to try and wiggle out of the cuffs and find the keyhole and unlock them. But they noticed me struggling three seconds before I found the keyhole and grabbed me before I could unlock the cuffs. They dragged me into the building, by then I had regained enough of my strength back to actually fight back. I even managed to get away from them for a few moments and get my hands from behind my back to the front so it would be easier for me to fight back, but more came and they over-powered me and led me into a corridor lined with nothing but cells and threw me into the nearest one and locked the door behind me.

"I tried to break down the bars but I couldn't. They left the room and left me there, some of them laughing. One of them said something to me, but I was too angry to remember exactly what he said, but I _think _he said 'Have a nice night, mutt.'"

Feather just stared at him with increasing interest. She was learning a lot about Shut, his fighting tactics, his hunting and survival skills, his emotions, his personality, his past obviously, and his temper. He was a very fascinating and charming werehog. Suddenly, Feather began to doubt that Shut was the one that murdered those kids, even though all the evidence pointed directly at him.

Mutt is a very racist comment that was and is used against Wereians. Since werehogs are part hedgehog, part wolf, and part something else, something that no one can really explain, and because of their canine-like instincts, Wereians are considered "mutts", but it didn't make it any less insulting and hurtful.

"After they had left I kept trying to break down the door a few more times before I finally gave up and sank to the floor and started crying," he sighed very heavily and squeezed his eyes tight, as if it would prevent them from streaming down his face like they had when he was a pup. "I hadn't felt that alone since that first day at Deathhorn's. Never felt so hated in my entire life," he croaked. Tears were starting to stream down his face, washing away little strips of grime from his muzzle. Tiny sobs racked his body and sharp breaths escaped his mouth. He was the most pitiful sight Feather had ever seen. She could very easily imagine his wrists and ankles chained together by the handcuffs and surrounded by thick, iron bars. He seemed to have shrunk, become just a pitiful, bawling lump curled up on the floor. Now he was no longer sixteen, he was twelve, a twelve-year-old werehog puppy in a prison cell with no one to comfort him. It made Feather's heart ache so much she had to grip her shirt just to keep it from exploding with the overflow of emotions coursing through her aching heart. The fire in her eyes had completely died, as if all of the emotions she was feeling now had sucked out every last drop of life from the fire in her green eyes.

She couldn't bear it any longer. She slipped her knife back into its pocket and scooted closer to the sobbing werehog. She hesitated before she put her hand on his back and began to stroke it gently. She scooted in closer to him, trying to comfort him, even though every part of her dark half was screaming at her take advantage of the moment, to cuff him while his guard was down, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. No matter how horrible his crimes were, no matter how heartless he was to those children, she just couldn't bring herself to arrest someone when they're grieving, especially someone like Shut.

"Why did they do that to me? Why did they have to take away the one thing I had left? The only thing in my life that really mattered to me," he gasped into between sobs, gazing into her green eyes. Despite his tears, a blazing fire burned behind his ice-blue eyes. He stared up at her, as if expecting an answer.

"Answer me!" he screamed and stood up suddenly. He was no longer a pitiful twelve-year-old puppy crying in a prison cell, he was a furious twenty-year-old murderer on the brink of tears and slaughtering his next victim.

The sudden out-burst was unexpected, but it hadn't caught Feather off-guard. She sprung into air and landed in a solidly onto the wooden floor and unsheathed her knife and stood ready in a fighting pose. The fire had returned in her eyes, but they weren't raging, not like before, she only wanted to help him, aggression would only make things worse. Her dark half was silently cursing and swearing at Feather for missing her chance.

"WELL?!" he roared, enraged that she hadn't given him an answer. His ice-blue eyes were raging, almost insane. He was as much a psychopath as she was. He stared at her expectantly, Feather opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. None. She had no idea what to say. So all she said was: "I-I don't know," she managed, because in truth, she really didn't know.

He turned his head away from her sharply. Tears streamed down his face and made tiny puddles on the cracked, wooden floor. His body was racked with sobs and he drew in tiny, sharp breaths in between sobs. "It's not fair! I never did anything to them!" he whined, he was a twelve-year-old in a twenty-year-old's body. His fists clenched tightly at his side, trying to hold in the anger that threatened to unleash itself at even the slightest provocation.

Feather lowered her knife and stowed it away in its pocket and stood up straight and turned her body so that it faced him. "You're right, it's not fair. It's never fair. Believe me, I know. I don't know why the humans did what they did, but it's over now, they can't hurt you," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "I won't let them,"

He looked up at her, like a crying little kid living in an alley being told that he gets to live in a house with a guarantee of food and water. A tiny spark of hope and wonder flashed across his eyes and… something else too… bewilderment? Disbelief? Well, it didn't matter; Feather wasn't going to shackle him without at least helping him through it. It just didn't seem right to do otherwise.

"I give you my word, I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe. I will not let them hurt you anymore, I refuse to let them harm you in any way, shape, or form. I will protect you no matter what," It was official, Feather had gone against her previous word earlier that day to make the Hunter pay for his wrong doings… but then again, maybe not. After all, she had promised to make the _Hunter_ pay, she hadn't promised to make _Shut _pay. She promised to make the Hunter pay, but she also promised to protect Shut. It wouldn't be easy, especially since most people thought that the Hunter and Shut were the same person. Feather knew better. The fire in her eyes allowed her to see past the flesh barriers and look down at the heart and soul. The Hunter and Shut were not the same person. The Hunter was a trespasser. He didn't belong in a person like Shut; he didn't _deserve_ to take refuge in a person like Shut.

He wiped his nose with his arm like a little kid just getting up from a scrap with a bully; his eyes gave off the same look, except this time had hope inside of them. "Really?" he asked in the voice of a twelve-year-old.

Feather nodded and smiled warmly at him. "Yes, I will do everything in my power to protect you,"

He wiped his damp eyelids and face with arm as well, smearing the grime that coated his face. "Even when _they_ find me?"

"Yes," replied Feather in a tenderly, motherly voice. She took a mental note that he said _when_ they found him instead of _if_ they found him.

"Even when _they_ take me away?"

"Yes,"

"Even if it puts _you_ in danger?"

Feather hesitated a moment on that one, but Shut was counting on her, and she'd never broken her word before. And protecting someone usually means putting yourself in a dangerous position or situation. "Yes," she replied in a strong voice filled with purpose and sincerity.

"To be with me and comfort me in times of need?"

"I think I can do better than that, but yes, I will," Feather replied in a slightly mischievous tone.

Shut paused for a few moments and shifted his gaze to the floor, thinking if there was anything else he needed to add. He locked his ice-blue eyes with Feather's fiery green eyes, so that when she gave her next answer, it would be her commitment, and if she failed to stick to her commitment, she would be considered _Haggish_ by Pack standards; dark hearted, roguish even. No better than a Deathian. Almost evil. In the Packs, this commitment was known as the Soul Oath, it was a promise that, once broken, the Breaker could be sentenced to death. If kept, that person held at a very high standard and meant that they were very honorable and trustworthy. This Oath would decide exactly whose side Feather was _really_ on. Shut had heard the uncertainty in her voice when he asked if she was with _them._ This Oath would prove once and for all if Feather was a Packian, or an Outsider.

Shut took a step back from Feather and placed three of his fingers on the center of her chest, roughly over the area where her heart took refuge in her curved body.

Immediately, when Shut's fingers came in contact with her body a tiny wisp of panic clouded her mind for a brief moment and the word _rape_ exploded in her brain, until she saw the look in his ice-blue eyes. She knew what he wanted. He wanted a Soul Oath. A promise that was forbidden to be broken or she'd _really_ be an outcast.

"Do you, Feather Wolfheart of Timber Pack; do solemnly swear on your honor as a Packian and as a Starian, to uphold your word on the soul of your deceased father and on all that is Starian, to stand by me and protect me, Shut Hedge of Gold Pack, and comfort me in times of need and be my friend and guardian, even when _they_ find me and take me away to a life of chains and iron bars, even at the cost of your very life?"

A million thoughts weaved themselves through Feather's creative mind. _On my honor as a Packian? As a _Starian? _On the soul of my deceased father and all that is Starian? Be his _friend_ and_ guardian_? Even at the cost of my life? Wow, he's really serious about this. I'm really putting a lot on the line if I agree to this. But then again, if I refuse, I'm considered a coward._

But Feather had already made up her mind. "I swear,"

Shut's arm started to relax and the fire in his eyes started to recede, but before he could take his fingers off of Feather's heart, she put three of her fingers on the middle of Shut's chest and looked him in the eye. He stared at her, his eyes clouded in confusion. The corner of Feather's mouth ended in a small upward curve. She had a Soul Oath for him too.

"Do you, Shut Hedge of Gold Pack; do solemnly swear on your honor as a Packian and Starian and as a member and Alphabeta of the Wereian Gold Pack, to uphold your word on the soul of your deceased father and your deceased guardian and on all that is Starian, to stand by me and protect me, Feather Sapphire Wolfheart of Timber Pack, to _never_ slay another innocent child for as long as you shall live, and to comfort me in times of need and be my friend and guardian, even if _they_ find me and take me away to a life of chains and iron bars, even at the cost of your very _life_?"

For several heartbeats Shut just stared at her in bewilderment, still unable to believe the situation. Feather wasn't the only one that was going to take a Soul Oath. The fogs of confusion cleared from his piercing ice-blue eyes and were nearly consumed by the untamable fire behind them. His arm regained its strength and firmness. He stared deep into Feather's fiery green eyes, searching her soul, her heart. He had made his decision. "I swear," there wasn't the slightest hint of treachery, mockery, or sarcasm in his deep, menacing voice, there was only sincerity, solemnest, and respect. Full of purpose and earnestness. This was indeed an honorable werehog. His past and previous actions didn't matter. He swore a Soul Oath, and as a Golden Alpha's son, Feather knew he would do everything he could do to keep it.

Shut let his arm fall to his side and Feather her's. For several moments, they just stood there, shifting awkwardly and turning their gazes away. Feather stared down at her bare feet; she had left her boots back in her backyard, and thought about what she had just done. She knew she would regret this later. After all, she had just swore a Soul Oath to a murderer she would most likely have to arrest later. But for now, it didn't matter; now, Feather had to focus on her next move.

"Heh, wow, I've never sworn a Soul Oath before," joked Shut, shifting awkwardly on his feet, not used to being around another person for this long without getting into some sort of fight or scrap. He hadn't felt like this since before Rope died…

He pushed the thought, not wanting to have to relive that awful memory. Instead, he returned his attention back to Feather.

The dusky brown she-wolf put her hands on her hips. "Me neither. Honestly never thought I'd ever take one either,"

They both chuckled rather weakly, Shut especially, still unaccustomed to the social interaction.

Feather stepped away from the windows and Shut and examined the drab living quarters. She stepped towards the small, sagging bed in the corner of the room and stroked the furs. "Are these all deer skins?

Shut chuckled. "Yeah, pretty much. Most of 'em are white tails. They're my favorite; I try and get them as often as I can,"

"Huh, you don't say," the she-wolf trailed off. Shut's hackles rose and his muscles tensed. He hated that phrase; it had given him nothing but trouble. He prepared himself for a fight.

But it never came. She just continued to examine the room, running her fingers over some of the designs in the furniture. "Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

Shut blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. "Um, yeah, sure. What about?"

"You said something in the Soul Oath that surprised me," she turned and looked him in the eye; her eyes weren't cold or accusing, just curious. Shut relaxed a little. "How did you know my dad was dead, and that he meant a lot to me? You wouldn't have added him in the Oath if he wasn't important to me,"

Shut blinked and looked down at his feet, slightly embarrassed. His foot was shifting uncomfortably. "I read your eyes," he said it exactly like a little six-year-old admitting he took the last piece of candy in the bowl.

Now it was Feather turned around and stared at him, very clearly caught off-guard. She blinked, not having expected an answer like that. She thought only she could read eyes. She thought she was special. Guess not. "Oh," was all Feather could say, and looked down at the floor.

Shut crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest with the deep claw marks and gave her a teasing look. "You know, you also said something in the Oath that surprised me too," he commented casually, slowly walking towards Feather in a long, half circle. Feather looked at him with questioning eyes following him as he stopped beside the aboriginal coat rack and leaned against the wall behind it.

"You said something about my dad and my guardian," he held a finger in the air and shook it at an angle at Feather as he talked. "Now, I told you about my dad, but how did you know about my guardian?"

Feather was bewildered. Unsure of what to say for a millisecond. A mischievous smile spread across her face and she got a teasing look in her fiery green eyes. "You're not the only one who can read eyes," she replied, turning her head sharply behind her to look Shut in the eye and catch his expression. At first it was shocked, then it turned to casual after a moment, but his eyes gave off a new kind of respect.

She smiled widely turned her head sharply back the other way and walked confidently to the door. Shut stopped leaning against the faded wall and took two attentive steps after her, panic flooded his eyes and veins, afraid that she might actually leave him, and might never come back, there was nothing the Soul Oath she took that said she couldn't do that, so long as she protected him and comforted him in some way, and nowadays, she could find a way to comfort him without actually seeing him. The thought terrified him that he would never see her again.

She stopped at the door; a thought had just crossed her mind. One that gave her an idea.

She turned her head back at him suddenly. "Hey, do you know what time it is?"

He blinked and the panic that had flooded his eyes was washed away by surprise. "Um, I-I don't know," he stammered. Man, this she-wolf had a natural talent for catching people off-guard without really being caught off-guard herself. He padded over to the windows and peered through a crack between the wooden boards and stared at the moon for a few moments, trying to estimate the time of day, or night he guessed.

"Um, maybe about 11:30ish?" he replied, a little unsure of his answer. He didn't really look at the time of day, or night, very often, it never really mattered to him. What did she care what time it was?

"Huh, 11:30…" she mumbled to herself and rubbed her chin with her gloved hand, thinking over what he had just said. "Hmmm, maybe if we move fast enough we can still make it…" she murmured, lost in thought.

"Um, sorry, what are you talking about?" she asked leaning forward slightly, trying to hear what Feather was mumbling under her breath, his eyes betrayed his caution and suspicion, but beneath the thin layer of caution and suspicion, was a veil of curiosity.

Feather looked up at him and let her arms drop down to her sides. "Come 'on, if we move fast enough we can get to my backyard in time,"

"Wait, what?"

She sighed. "There's something I want to show you, but if we don't get moving we'll miss it,"

"Miss what?" there was no curiosity in his voice; he sounded like an impatient older sibling asking an annoying younger one what she wanted to show him.

She shot him a mischievous smile. "I guess you'll just have to find out," and with that, she left the room.

Shut's eyes widened. "Hey, wait!" he yelled after her desperately, like an anxious boy running after a girl to catch up with her and ask her what she meant. He bolted out of the room and skidded to a halt when he saw Feather five steps down the staircase, her lightly grazing the handrail. She stopped and looked back at him, smiling. She had him right where she wanted him. He was desperate. Desperate and lonely. It would be all too easy to lure him to her backyard.

"You coming?" she asked him teasingly, smiling mischievously.

His shoulders sagged and his eyes lowered. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, defeated. She had seen how desperate he was, he may not be in handcuffs yet, but that didn't mean that he wasn't her prisoner. "I guess," he admitted quietly, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"Well come 'on then, we're burning moonlight," she called casually and continued down the staircase.

He frantically ran down the stairs after her, afraid to lose her, while Feather casually and calmly, and a little slowly, padded down the staircase, loving every second of his desperation. It was a new feeling for her, for someone to be desperate to be with her instead of being desperate to get away from her. She liked it. She liked it very much.

She stopped and waited at the bottom of the stairs for him to catch up, though, she didn't have to wait very long; he was practically on her heels. She laughed sweetly. "How ya doin' there Shutsy?"

He stared at her. "Shutsy?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Come 'on,"

Feather casually padded towards the huge double boors of the abandoned church with Shut following close behind her. For the first time in a long time, Feather felt short and weak. Despite his kid-like attitude and lack of proper nutrient, he towered over six and a half feet tall and was solidly built, with broad shoulders and a rock-hard chest and massive muscles rippling under his dark gray fur, not to mention his long, strong legs that had managed to out-run the powerful she-wolf, Feather could only imagine he could do some pretty serious damage. She was a little surprised that the murdered kids had still been in one piece. She knew werehogs, especially Gold werehogs, were big, but she had never imagined they would be _this_ big. And she hadn't even seen his claws yet. Not mention Gold werehogs were _legendary _for their fighting skills, and with Shut being the Golden Alpha's son, his fighting skills had to be nothing short of extraordinary.

Feather slowly opened one of the massive wooden doors open a crack, a deep, long _creak _echoed through the abandoned chapel, making the place all the more ominous and creepy.

"Um, so what are you going show me?" he inquired in his sixteen-year-old voice, a little unsure of himself, while Feather peered intently through the crack, checking to see if the coast was clear.

"You'll see," she answered without looked back at him.

"But how do I know this isn't some trap to get me in handcuffs?" he demanded, this time in the voice of an eighteen or nineteen-year-old.

Feather glanced back at him; her fiery green eyes sparkled in the rising moonlight. "I guess you'll just have to trust me," she replied, her sweet yet rough voice had a note of teasing to it, and then she bolted out of the church through the crack and into the nearby woods.

He gasped and dropped down on all four and sprinted after her, afraid he would lose her. He tore down the ancient street and into the forest, leaping over fallen logs, boulders, creeks, and gorges. Man, this she-wolf was fast. It took every ounce of energy he had just to keep up with her.

"You know, I would never arrest someone in my own backyard," she called back casually to him. She was running on all fours too. But didn't look tired in the least.

"Why's that?" he managed to gasp out, just loud enough for her to hear.

"It's sacred, that's why!" she called back, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She peered back at him, his sides heaving and his expression betraying his utter exhaustion.

She laughed. "Don't _tell_ _me_ you're _already_ tired!" she taunted teasingly, then jumped straight up in the air and grabbed hold of a sturdy tree branch and swung around it with ease like a gymnast, and swung to the next tree across from it, digging her non-retractable canine claws in the bark momentarily before jumping gracefully to the next, and then the next, and the next, and the next.

Shut looked up into the canopy of branches and leaves, watching Feather but having a difficult time believing it. She was as fast and as graceful and as light-footed as a cat, but she seemed more like a bird, a beautiful dusky brown bird with long, sleek feathers and blazing, fiery green eyes. No wonder her name was Feather, she was like a bird in a wolf's body, in both body, mind, and spirit. He could almost see her flying on massive, black feathered wings with long, silky feathers, weaving through the shafts of moonlight that leaked through the forest canopy of leaves and branches. Because something told Shut that if Feather had wings, they would be black, midnight black to be precise.

Feather jumped to another branch high above Shut's head and disappeared into the canopy. Shut slid to a halt and frantically searched the leafy awning, anxiously trying to find any sign of the she-wolf. He turned in circles, sniffing the air, trying to catch her scent, and searching for her with his eyes which betrayed his rising panic. He jumped in surprise and fear when Feather landed next to him.

"Race ya!" she exclaimed to him and disappeared deeper into the forest without a trace.

Shut smiled widely and pelted after her, laughing like a sixteen-year-old going for a joy ride. Any exhaustion he had previously felt any pain in his limbs, vanished when Feather landed beside him. The wind in his fur, shafts of moonlight leaking through the leafy canopy above his head, turning his pelt a shining silver and filling him with renewed energy, the forest all around him, no handcuffs, and a beautiful female Wolfian that actually seemed to like him racing him to their destination, wherever that was. He hadn't felt this alive since that first moment he realized he had escaped Deathhorn for good. It felt… good. He actually felt… happy, even if the feeling wouldn't last, even if she probably arrested him in the near future, he cherished the feeling while it lasted. He knew after all, that the feeling wouldn't last forever, and there was a chance that he might never experience the feeling again.

The ground beneath the werehog's massive paws started to feel damp, then wet. Weeping willows seemed to materialize out of thin air and plant themselves in front of him. The ground was marshy and wet and squishy, mud getting stuck between his clawed toes and splattering up onto his already grime coated face.

While he could easily hear the sound of his massive paws sloshing and splashing through the marsh and pond and mud, Feather seemed to hover above the water as she pelted gracefully to their destination, like a bird in flight, ready to take to the skies and soar above the trees. He was amazed at her speed and agility and how she tore through the murky waters and only making a tiny splash that had so little sound that anyone could easily mistake it for a frog or even a huge drop of rain. She weaved through the murky waters and through the long, flowing locks of the weeping willows, only stirring them for a moment before the swayed back into place, as if she was never there. She was like a ninja, no, more like a shadow or a phantom, racing through the mystifying forest, the gloom turning Feather's dusky brown fur a searing midnight black, her eerie, fiery green eyes giving off the illusion of glowing in the dim light, making her seem even more ominous and mysterious and mystifying. And even more threatening.

A silhouette a white picket fence came into view, just at the end the willow forest. She was running towards it.

That was their destination. Behind that fence, Shut realized. Whatever it was Feather wanted to show him, it was beyond that spotless, pallid picket fence.

Feather stopped abruptly at the fence and turned her fiery gaze to Shut. Her breathing came out in steady, even breaths. She wasn't even breathing very hard.

Shut slid to a halt, sending small drops of mud and murky water onto the once spotless picket fence, his face registered his shock at her sudden halt. Feather winced at the onslaught of mud and grime splattering onto her sleek, dusky brown fur. She glared at Shut for a brief moment, her fiery green eyes giving off an eerie glow in the aging blackness against her dark silhouette.

"Sorry," he muttered and lowered his head in embarrassment, smiling ever so slightly in apology.

Feather groaned and rolled her eyes and turned away from him. "Males," she grumbled under her breath, clearly annoyed at him getting mud in her fur. And then unexpectedly leaped over the fence and disappeared behind it.

Shut gasped. "Feather?"

The she-wolf's head suddenly popped up and she rested it on her elbows against the top of the fence, her fiery green eyes were loving and playful, and very friendly. _Almost too friendly._ Thought Shut with a hint of suspicion. He still wasn't sure if he really trusted this wolf.

"You coming, or what?" she asked him like they were old friends.

"Um," he looked down at the muddy ground, away from her fiery eyes. "I suppose so," he mumbled, like he was a shy little kid that had just met an energetic girl with a bubbly personality.

"Well then come 'on! It's almost midnight," she exclaimed and disappeared behind the pallid picket fence again.

"So what?" Shut called after her and jumped and landed on the other side on all four gracefully, like a cat jumping down from a ledge. He stood up to his full height, towering over Feather, who at the moment was preoccupied with putting on a pair of black, knee-high boots. He stared at her questionly.

The she-wolf looked up at him as if suddenly remembering he was there. She smiled up at him slightly embarrassed. "I forgot to put my boots back on," she answered his unasked question a little shyly.

Shut blinked, a little unsure of what to say at first. "Heh, that explains why you were barefoot," he said awkwardly, still unsure of himself.

Feather laughed. She guessed the Hunter – er – Shut, wasn't so bad once you got to know him…

_NO! Enough of this bull scat! You should take this chance to cuffs him, while his guard is down. Arrest him. Arrest him NOW!_

Screamed her other half viciously. Her every word seemed to scald her insides. Of course she was screaming her to arrest the Hunter. Anyone else would. But she had sworn a Soul Oath with him, which was a stupid idea in the first place. Especially since she would probably be the one to arrest him anyway, and that would be going against the Soul Oath. Even just telling someone where he was she would be breaking the Soul Oath. Man, she was such an idiot, but he had started it, and once a Soul Oath was started, it couldn't be stopped. He had trapped her. He had played her into his own little trap. But it didn't seem like he did it to hurt her, maybe; just maybe, he did it so she wouldn't just ignore him or arrest him. Maybe he did it because he needed help. And looking at him and what he had done in the chapel, he genuinely seemed like he desperately needed help…

_That's just what he wants you to think, scat-for-brains._

_Or maybe he really needs my help you cowardly Haggard._ She shot back at her evil inner twin.

_HOW DARE YOU ADDRESS ME THIS WAY YOU NO-PACK PSYHCOPATH?!_

_Hey, you insult me, you get insulted. It's just a simple cause and effect. Deal with it._

_YOU MISERABLE PILE OF HAGGIAN SCAT! I OUGHT TO HAVE YOU THROWN INTO THE PITS OF DEATHPACK TO BE TORN APART AND BURNED BY DEMONCONJERERS AND – _

"Why are you talking to yourself?" asked Shut. Feather blushed slightly and quickly turned her gaze to the grassy floor. She had been verbally answering her doppelganger again. She usually didn't notice it because it was so real in her head she might as well be talking to another person, like she was talking to Shut now. How embarrassing.

_I hope he didn't hear any of that._ Thought Feather to herself.

_WHO CARES IF THAT MURDERER OVERHEARD, YOU PSYCHOTIC, HAGGIAN –_

_We'll talk later. _Feather replied curtly, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence, then banished her evil half to the far reaches of her mind where she wouldn't interrupt. She could hear her evil twin cursing at her as she faded away to the far reaches of her mind, but she could still hear her ear-damning voice and feel her scalding words tear away at her mind and soul.

"Um, it's a weird habit of mine. Sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it," apologized Feather, blushing and smiling nervously.

Shut only shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's no big deal. Really. I'm just not used to people talking to themselves," reassured Shut.

_I bet you aren't._ Contemplated Feather. _You aren't even used to talking to other people let alone other people talking to themselves._

"Who were you talking to anyway?" Shut asked suddenly.

Feather blinked and nearly fell over face first into the damp ground. She quickly extended one of her sturdy arms to the grassy floor to steady herself. He had caught her off-guard.

_So this is what it feels like. _Reflected was a new feeling to her. Like her quiver being out of arrows. It felt…strange. Foreign. Alien. And she wasn't sure she liked it.

"What do you mean?" asked Feather, she tried to make it sound casual but her voice quavered at the end.

Shut blinked and stared at her for a moment, as if he was taken a little off-guard at the question, but he quickly recovered. "Well, it just sounded like you were talking to someone, and you paused in between phrases like you were listening to someone. And, um," he coughed at the "um" before he continued. ""_Cowardly Haggard?""_ He asked a little awkwardly and winced slightly at the curse word.

"Um, well…" Feather hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain that she had another half inside her head that she talked to and…

Oh, it already sounded like she was crazy. And _that_ was _the last_ thing she needed. To have yet _another_ person think that she was a psychopath. She could see the conversation now. _"Yeah, I have an evil twin inside my head that talks to me and insults me and tells me what I should and should not do. Oh, and by the way, she probably wants to kill you right now,"_

Oh, this already had the all-too-familiar scent of failure on it.

"Um, well, um, d-do you, well, have you ever had someone talk to you, I mean, like in your head, but they're not like actual person, but they talk to you a lot and tell you what to do and, oh, this isn't coming out right," stammered Feather, rubbing the back of her neck as she spoke. This wasn't an easy thing to explain.

Shut blinked, but then his eyes seemed to light up in understanding. "Like another half of yourself?"

"Yeah, that's it. Like a darker half of yourself," Feather said rather quickly, relieved that he understood her.

"Yeah, a darker half of yourself," murmured Shut, half to himself. His eyes were downcast and filled with unspoken pain. "I think I know what you mean,"

_I bet you do._ Thought Feather. _The Hunter._ That was his darker half. And it lusted for blood. And, for an eighth of a heartbeat, she feared it was her blood it lusted for.

She shook her head. _Nonsense._ Thought the mysterious she-wolf. Why would it want her blood? Besides, even if it did, it would have to fight with every ounce of strength it had just to get a single drop. No, not even a drop, half a drop, at the most. But more? Impossible.

She stood up and brushed the dirt and dust from her fur, though she didn't think there was much on it, but she did it out of habit anyway. Couldn't hurt.

"So, first things first, hungry?" asked Feather casually, trying to change the subject and lighten the mood a bit. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, um, no thanks. I had half a deer for lunch today," he declined politely. Almost too politely.

"Oh, that's fine. Do want anything to drink?" asked Feather casually, so as not to raise suspicions.

"Um, some water would nice, thanks," he said good-naturally. Yep, he was definitely being too polite for Feather's taste.

"Water? Sure, no problem,"

"But I don't want to be a bother, so if it would –"

"No no no, really. It's no big deal. Water's pretty easy to get here," reassured Feather and smiled. "Wait here," and with that she went inside the house closed the door behind her, leaving Shut alone in the backyard.

He stood there in the middle of the yard, not quite sure what to do.

_You can leave for starters._

_ Leave me alone. _Responded Shut. _You've gotten me into enough trouble._

_ Oh, come on, lighten up._

_ Lighten up?! It's your fault I'm a wanted criminal!_

_ So?_

_ SO it's your fault I'm on the brink of chains again! And this time they actually have a reason to lock me up! And it's all your FAULT!_

_ Oh please. I am an ancient demon with much experience and power and you are a young, inexperienced fugitive with no friends or allies. What could _you_ possibly do against _me?

_ JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!_

_ No. And while we're waiting, make yourself useful and sharpen your claws while I decide who our next victim shall be._

Shut panicked. He couldn't let the Hunter do this. Not again.

_But I just swore a Soul Oath with her! I-I can't kill another child!_ He sounded desperate, and he knew that the more desperate he sounded the more _he_ would want to spill innocent blood.

_Who said we were going to spill young blood? I had a different target in mind. Something a little…older. Something a little more…wolfish. _Snarled the Hunter. That would make him squirm.

_NO! Leave her out of this! She's never done anything to you!_

_ No. Your right, she hasn't. Yet._

_ But we swore a Sou-_

_ Oh shut up! She strikes me as the clever type. The type that can slip through the loop holes. Besides, how do you know she's not a rouge? What if the reason she doesn't want to go to Timber Pack isn't because she doesn't want to waste the time getting more arrows but because she isn't welcome there anymore? And you know as well as anyone that rouges are dishonest and ruthless. For all you know she could already be a Haggard._

_ She's not a Haggard._

_ How do you know? She's definitely a psychopath; a Haggard wouldn't be much of a stretch._

_ She's not a psychopath._

_ Oh please, she's no more of psychopath than you are._

_ I AM NOT A PSYCHOPATH YOU DASTERLY SCATTIN' HAGGIAN!_

_ YOU DARE TO DEFY ME?! _The Hunter's powerful, menacing, deep voice bellowed in Shut's mind so loud it was almost audible. Shut fell to ground on his hands and knees trembling. His fur dark grey fur was slick with sweat. Tears began to form at the base of his eyes and spill down his face and onto the grassy floor.

_That's right. KNEEL before your MASTER. _The Hunter snarled. He was smiling, Shut could it feel it. But it wasn't warm like Feather's, no, this one was cold and menacing, like its purpose was to slowly drive him insane.

_If you dare to defy me again, I will kill her. And that's a promise. The only reason I haven't killed her yet is because I sense she has a demon of her own..._

_ A demon of her own? _Contemplated Shut to himself, or least he thought it was to himself. He _hoped _it was to himself. He had heard her talking to what could only be her darker half, and from the sounds of it, she had more control over hers than he did over his. A lot more. Maybe if he could talk to her about it…

A sharp, agonizing streak of pain painted itself on Shut's left side. He let a small gasp of pain escape his mouth and held his hand at the part of his side that hurt, as if someone or something had just clawed him, but there was no physical evidence that he had been hurt. None at all.

_Don't even think about it. Remember, defy me and she dies._

He was gone. At least Shut _hoped _he was gone. He wasn't sure. But one thing was sure, he wanted him gone. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He stayed where he was, kneeling on the ground and trembling in terror, weeping like a child who had just been raped or beaten.

Feather stepped out into the backyard through the back door carrying a cold glass of water with ice and a can of root beer for herself.

"OK, here's your water. Sorry I took so long, I really had to – are you OK?" her voice was full of concern.

He couldn't look at her. Terrified that if he even made the slightest eye contact with her the Hunter would take over and slaughter her. And then he would be held accountable for yet another innocent life taken by his hands.

_One word and she dies._

"Shut?"

He attempted to answer her. "I…I'm fine. I just, I have to go," he said curtly and stood up, refusing to face her, to let her see the tears stains on his face and the fear in his eyes.

"Go where?"

He hesitated for a very brief moment, unsure of exactly what to say. "Away from here," he hoped she hadn't noticed the trace of fear in his voice.

She put her hands on her hips. "Shut, if this is about me arresting you, just relax. I already told you, I'm not gonna cuff you in my own backyard. It's sacred, remember? Besides, you look like you could use some rest. If you want you could sleep in my house tonight. I have a guest bedroom with plenty of room. I provide breakfast,"

_Hurry up. We're wasting time._

_ I'm trying. _Replied Shut desperately. He really was trying. He had to get away from there. Right now. And fast.

"N-No thanks, I can hunt for myself and I can just go back to the church for the night," argued Shut gently, desperately trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Nonsense. I have a guest bedroom with a nice bed and I'm offering to make you breakfast, you better take this offer now because odds are, I might never make it again. Take it or leave it,"

Shut felt his mouth go dry and his mind go blank. He _wanted_ to stay with her, sleep in her house and have breakfast in the morning, but the Hunter wasn't giving him that option.

"N-N-No, really, I'll be f-fine," stammered Shut, hoping she couldn't see the terror that was no doubt in his eyes or hear the rising fear so obvious in his voice.

She furrowed her brow and stared hard at him. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Are you OK? I mean, I know I can look kinda scary but I won't bite. Come'on Shut, what's…."

Something in his eyes caught made the tips of her green fire flicker. It almost looked like…

"….wrong..?" her voice had dropped down several notches in pitches as she stared deeper into the young werehog's eyes. A small shadow passed over his right iris that reminded Feather somewhat of a demon….wait, did that shadow pass _over_ his eye or _under…?_

"I-I really have to go," Shut began to back away from the she-wolf and towards the fence.

"Shut, what's going on?" concern rising in her voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't explain right now, I-I just have to get out of here," he was a tail-length from the forest now.

"Shut, please, let me help you," Feather reached out her hand for him to take.

He shook his head and stared down at the ground, his hands clenching into fists and his eyes were cast in shadow by his unkempt loose fur that hung over his eyes.

"No. No one can help me." The fear in his voice had vanished and was replaced by an ominous, dark and disturbing tone. Feather couldn't help but feel…vulnerable, for some reason. Chilled.

Feather smiled. "Wanna a bet?"

Shut jerked his head up and stared at her, not expecting that answer at all. Even the Hunter had gone silent.

Feather placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not just any ordinary Wolfian you know," she stared at him, hard. The fire in her eyes seemed to be swirling like a slow twirling whirlpool in a calm lake.

_Are those…gears in her eyes…? _He wondered. Shut remembered hearing something about something like this from a friend of his he had met during the Carnage.

_Scat, what was it she called it? The Soulidias Clockworks maybe…?_

Something clicked. Within Feather's eyes on of the gears clicked. He could have sworn he heard an audible _click _the very same moment the clockworks in her eyes turned.

He remembered something about how his friend told him it was an advanced Soulian move, which it was a very advanced eye reading technique or something. The faster the wheels turned the more advanced the user was and the more information they were receiving. A single click meant that they had learned something important. Very important. But thankfully it usually signified that they had only learned _one _crucial fact. Thankfully. But it was still dangerous. And inescapable.

_But, Feather's not a Soulhog. _He struggled.

He took into account that she could be _part _Soulhog, but no, it would show. Plus, he had read enough in her eyes to know that she was without a doubt a full blooded Timber Pack Wolfian.

_But Saqueentia said that only Soulhogs could inherit the power eye reading and stuff._

He mentally shook his head. No, that wasn't right. She had said _usually _only Soulhogs inherited the power of eye reading. She had said he had the gift. But it was very rare for someone outside of Soul Clan to inherit the gift, especially for someone who had on Soulian blood whatsoever.

But on the other hand…

He groaned and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and winced slightly. Whenever he thought about complicated subjects like the science of the soul (_especially_ the science of the soul) he always got a headache.

He hadn't received the right education in order for his brain to grasp the complexity of subjects like the science of the soul.

I mean, a few occasional classes in prison and a handful or two of lessons from a few close friends and reading a few books in your spare time wasn't exactly what you could call a "proper education".

He was suddenly aware of a slight burning sensation. He opened his eyes and felt Feather's fiery green eyes boring down on him. Was the fire in her eyes so powerful that you could feel their heat in the physical world?

She blinked and the fire in the she-wolf's eyes flickered into a small, sputtering campfire. The look in her eyes betrayed her concern and sympathy.

"Please Shut. I can help you. I just need you to let me…"

_Get out of here. Now. _It was the Hunter.

This time, Shut didn't argue.

"I have to go," and before Feather could object he leaped over the fence and melted into the forest until he was just a distant shadow.

Feather stared after him and sighed. She should probably go to bed soon. She had work in the morning and she had to be there early in the morning (well, early in her standards). She was going in tomorrow to help along in the search for the Hunter.

She'd probably be fired if anyone found out that she had met the Hunter and been with him for a considerable amount of time and didn't even attempt to arrest him, and that she knew his current location and didn't report it.

Good thing she was such an amazing actress.

It was funny, how she could hide everything from everyone else but yet no one could hide anything from her. She liked having that advantage. It gave her the upper hand.

She loved being so clever.

Everyone knew she was a genius (no matter how forgetful she was). She could easily hide this little mess without raising anyone's suspicions.

After all, no one could read her.

Well, except for maybe Chicka.

But she was smart enough and a good enough actress that she could almost without a doubt still pull it off without arousing too much suspicion. But Feather could be quite unusual, which worked in her favor. So any seemingly odd behavior coming from the she-wolf would go almost completely unnoticed due to the fact that it was very normal for Feather to do something strange.

But Feather couldn't help but feel…rather guilty at lying to one of the few people who genuinely _liked _her.

She finally came to the conclusion that she would arrest the Hunter-Shut-in the morning. Avoid having to lie to her best friend and feel the weight of the heavy guilt haunt her in the night.

So it was settled; she would arrest him tomorrow…maybe.

FINALLY! IT IS FINISHED! YAY!

Ok, so I started this _quite _a while back, at first I thought I would end up posting chapter early because of how far I got in it in such a short amount of time, but instead I ended up neglecting it for a long time and only recently completed the ending. REVIEW! REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! Or I might just sick Feather on you! (Not really, but seriously, REVIEW!)


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